


Concerto

by Reyanth



Category: Tenipuri - Fandom, Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6485719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyanth/pseuds/Reyanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Oshitari Yuushi sets out to seduce Tezuka Kunimitsu, he is well aware of what he is unleashing, he just decides to be selfish enough not to care. Tezuka comes with baggage in the forms of Fuji and Atobe, along with whom comes the devious Yukimura. Will Tezuka and Oshitari be able to overcome the efforts of those who wish to tear them apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Concerto

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: Tezuka, as well as several other players from various schools and Hyoutei middle school’s own tennis team have been invited to a tour of Hyoutei high. Needless to say, there’s no way they’d all obediently follow the tour through to its end, and certain members of the tour are already quite familiar with Hyoutei high school such as a certain tensai who has performed there many times. His subtle manipulations separated Tezuka from the group and landed them both in the one place with nothing better to do than a little music recital…

Tezuka stared dazedly up at the graded roof. He was in Hyoutei Highschool’s small music auditorium, his upper body draped over the stairs to the stage and Hyoutei Middle School’s Oshitari Yuushi between his thighs, sucking diligently on his cock.

The whole situation seemed immensely surreal—not that Tezuka didn’t want to be there—it was just such an unexpected turn of events. One moment he was touring the facilities as invited, along with other tennis sponsorship prospectives—including, of course, both Fuji and Atobe, whose warring attentions had begun to wear thin—and the next, he was offered a moment of asylum after an accidental separation that he suspected the Hyoutei tensai had engineered. 

Oshitari’s supposed attempts to get them back to the group through a shortcut had brought them to the auditorium and, though Tezuka didn’t believe the ruse for a moment, he was too relieved by the absence of his subtly bickering exes to protest. Besides, the auditorium and the bonuses that seemed to come with it were doing more to endear Tezuka to the school than any number of classrooms, computer labs, or restaurant-renovated canteens. After all, the tennis courts and sporting facilities had been at the very beginning of the tour.

Thought and time took alternative paths as Tezuka’s skin flushed all over in response to the tensai’s ministrations. Every time his eyes drifted closed to block out the floating view of the vaulted ceiling, Tezuka relived the memory of Oshitari’s fingers drifting over the frets of his violin, his bow caressing the strings at various tempos and producing a variety of seductive sounds that still seemed to linger in the air. Each reiteration of the memories sent tiny tremors through Tezuka as his cock recalled its original call to arms.

Tezuka had never before been so turned on by music but the way Oshitari wielded a bow… It wasn’t just about beautiful music, though that in itself was thoroughly entrancing... Somehow, Oshitari—who had never seemed especially attractive—suddenly became the sexiest guy Tezuka had ever seen; the movements of his fingers, his posture, the contrast of intensity and detachment playing in his eyes, the set of his lips, and even the way his hair fell over his face as he played. 

A quarter of the way through the piece, Tezuka was hard. At halfway, Oshitari had paused in his playing, his eyes lifting from the violin, first to Tezuka’s crotch and then all the way to his face. From then on, he played the last half of the song staring into Tezuka’s eyes. By the time the bow lifted from the strings for the last time, Tezuka was not only emotionally swayed but also irrevocably hard and unable to move for fear of coming in his pants. It was a strange turn of events from the morning’s irritation and a leaning toward swearing off all relationships for the rest of time.

As a result, he kept reflecting on the situation even as Oshitari sucked him off, trying to understand how he got there and why he wasn’t putting a stop to it. If they were caught…

Yet still he lay there, with his fingers woven into raven hair and his hips gyrating ever-so-subtly as Oshitari deep throated him. Pleasure was igniting throughout every nerve in his body.

As Oshitari had walked towards him, violin and bow hanging limply from his hands, his steps like that of a stalking panther trying to seem as though it was not, in fact, stalking any prey of particular note… For the first time he could identify, Tezuka had been unable to suppress his desire despite a host of reasons to do so. As Oshitari had crawled onto his lap, draping his arms over Tezuka’s shoulders and gently letting the instrument slip through his fingers onto the seat behind, Tezuka had allowed himself to be kissed, sinuously humped, and partially undressed. He’d moaned as Oshitari sucked on his tongue, and gasped as the tensai ground mercilessly into his almost painful erection.

Tezuka rolled his head, moaning breathily as his hips twitched with the longing to drive his cock down Oshitari’s throat. He was completely losing control.

Not that he’d really had it to begin with. No, that had been perpetually in Oshitari’s capable hands.

The tensai had urged him to his feet and dragged him by the collar, still kissing him deeply, trying to make it to the stage for some reason. However, making out caused them to move clumsily and fall just short of the rise, Tezuka landing atop of Oshitari. 

For only an instant, he had paused, intending to enquire as to whether Oshitari was alright. In the next moment he was on his back, the tensai atop him and already undoing his shirt buttons, nipping at snippets of flesh as Tezuka’s chest was revealed. He simply lay there and allowed Oshitari to do as he wished, and all he could think of to explain such ill-advised behavior was that he couldn’t get that song out of his head and it was driving him mad.

Tezuka’s eyelids fluttered in imitation of the muscular contractions that rippled through him as he came, influenced by a subtle probing into his entrance. He tightened his fingers as his body seized up, Oshitari’s hair rubbing between the digits and providing him something to focus on aside from the overload of pleasure.

He barely knew this boy. He wasn’t ready to lose himself completely just yet.

But Oshitari wasn’t done. The moment Tezuka’s orgasm abated and his trembling began to subside, the tensai lifted Tezuka's hips, his tongue flicking over and probing briefly into an orifice rarely infiltrated. Tezuka gasped in reaction, a belated spasm seizing him and milking him of reserves. 

Satisfied and smirking, Oshitari crawled up Tezuka’s body, though his fingers stayed beneath Tezuka’s ass, gently rubbing his tight ring and trying to coerce their way inside. A moment later, Oshitari’s lips were on his, and Tezuka struggled for breath to respond, still recovering from the intense orgasm. 

Seeing as how Tezuka now considered himself fully committed and his sense of self was returning in the wake of his release, he felt the need to wrest back a measure of control. If they were really going to do this, they’d better get on with it.

He reached down and grasped Oshitari’s belt, slipping the leather through the buckle until it fell open. He struggled with the tensai’s button and fly even as his own tongue was skillfully guided and manipulated in a smooth kiss that affected his mostly slumbering libido rather drastically.

Once again, Oshitari’s sensual performance emerged in his memory and passion began to stir back to life in him. Various images chased themselves around his mind, all the while supplemented by Oshitari’s skillful tongue and the erotic impression left by his recital.

Tezuka slowly slid his hands around the tensai’s slim hips, slipping them inside Oshitari’s checkered uniform pants and pushing them down as far as he could manage. He wasn’t in an ideal position to do so but the tensai was more than happy to help, finally breaking the intense kiss to rid himself of obstruction.

Half naked, he lay flat atop Tezuka and began rubbing against the captain’s still saliva-moistened cock, quickly reinvigorating Tezuka’s erection. Meanwhile, Oshitari’s eyes were narrowed in restraint behind his thick glasses as the grinding of his already rigid arousal seemed to threaten to surpass his limits of self-control.

“Oshitari,” Tezuka breathed, trying to stop the tensai by holding him still. As an afterthought, he added the honorific. “-san.”

Showing incredible patience, Oshitari ground to a halt. “Yes?” he asked, his deep voice remarkably stable. They hadn’t exchanged much conversation even before things started to get heated. Now, Tezuka was hyper aware of how sexy that rumbling drawl could be and longed to hear more.

“How far do you intend this to go?” Tezuka asked, glad that his voice didn’t crack embarrassingly.

He wasn’t usually so easily affected but he couldn’t even seem to hold it against himself as he felt the subtle shift of Oshitari’s muscles against his own, causing his breath to catch. Something about the Hyoutei tensai had thrown him completely off guard.

“How far will you let it?” Oshitari replied, his sensual voice provoking a greater reaction than the words deserved.

Tezuka closed his eyes, taking a moment to seriously and semi-responsibly consider his preordained response. The verdict? He’d come this far. Worth a moment of extra consideration was whether he was really going to let a boy he barely knew—a teammate of his ex—top him without even a token show of dominance…

“Well?”

That voice.

“Be mindful,” Tezuka cautioned. “I have a match tomorrow.”

“By tomorrow, you won’t even feel it,” Oshitari murmured, kissing him again; only this time, there was less passion in the kiss and more of an exchange of promise and trust.

It didn’t last long. Oshitari broke the kiss, growling in frustration as he hastily removed his own glasses—which had finally gotten in the way one too many times. He then plucked Tezuka’s away, sending both pairs skittering across the stage before initiating a far more passionate kiss to make up for the delay.

It was divine—but Tezuka had had enough of kissing. He was already hard again and he could tell that Oshitari was nearing his limits. Besides, they were pushing their luck where time was concerned. As he’d already submitted to being taken, Tezuka wasn’t about to let it end short of exactly that and, unfortunately, they didn’t have all day to lie around and arouse each other again and again. Someone could walk in on them at any moment. All that obscured them even partially from the main entrance was a grand piano.

Tezuka broke away, gasping for breath. “We have to be quick,” he urged.

Oshitari, recognizing this as a wise decision, nodded minutely. “Very well,” he agreed, though he expressed no signs of haste. “But you’ll have to be patient if you want me to keep my promise.”

“If someone walks in…”

Oshitari smirked. “It’s unlikely but if that did happen, we’d have some explaining to do, wouldn’t we?” he teased, not reassuring Tezuka at all even as he began to press his fingers into the captain’s ass.

Tezuka wasn’t a virgin but of his two lovers, only one had ever taken him, and only once. He found it hard to believe that of all people, he was submitting so easily to Oshitari. He was learning, though, that the tensai harbored an incredibly strong will that seemed to eclipse even his own. 

Furthermore, he was beginning to suspect that Oshitari’s projection of self-control was in fact masking a typically passionate nature. The result was a very quiet intensity all wrapped up in one person that Tezuka hadn’t been able to recognize until it came out through the medium of music; and once unleashed, Oshitari was a formidable force.

Ever aware of their public location, Tezuka held back a moan by biting his lip. He forced himself to breathe evenly and relax as Oshitari’s fingers moved within him, distracting himself by running his hands over the firm, taught muscles of Oshitari’s back. He traced the tensai’s spine through his shirt, wishing he could touch the skin but knowing it would take too long for them both to fully dress again. It was almost amusing taking such precautions when all anyone had to do was walk into the room and they’d instantly be aware of what was happening, but Tezuka couldn’t quite quell his cautionary instinct. 

He arched as Oshitari nibbled his nipple and then teased it with his tongue, forcing a muffled sound from Tezuka’s throat even as he strained to hold back the groan that wanted to escape. He took a deep breath and swallowed, trembling as Oshitari lightly bit his nipple once more. Somewhat calmed, he managed to speak slightly coherently.

“That’s enough,” he said. “A little discomfort isn’t enough to make me lose a match.”

Oshitari’s fingers slowed to a stop and he raised his head from Tezuka’s chest, his dark, lustful eyes meeting Tezuka’s challengingly.

“This from the cautious captain of Seigaku?” he teased, though his tone was decidedly serious. “‘Yudan-sezou-ni-ikkou’-Tezuka-Kunimitsu?”

“Shut up and fuck me now or you’ll never find out just how reckless I can be,” Tezuka threatened.

“Now that is something I intend to see,” Oshitari drawled, gently withdrawing his fingers from Tezuka’s ass. 

He sat back, he eyes roaming over Tezuka’s body as he positioned himself. Tezuka was similarly admiring Oshitari’s figure, especially his muscled thighs visible below the buttoned school shirt still hanging over the tensai’s frame.

Without another word, Oshitari began to press into him, and Tezuka stiffened instinctually. Oshitari’s steady gaze calmed him, though, and he relaxed, allowing the tensai to enter his body.

Oshitari had a nicely proportioned cock, not too large but large enough to caress every inch of Tezuka’s insides, causing him to shudder in pleasure. The reason he’d only been taken once wasn’t that he didn’t like it, but simply because he preferred to maintain control, especially over his two previous lovers. He would never admit that the one time he’d allowed Atobe to fuck him, he’d enjoyed it immensely and he often masturbated over that still very distinct memory.

The diva would probably throw a fit if he knew that Tezuka had practically offered his ass on a platter to Oshitari. He hadn’t even questioned his sudden willingness to allow the tensai to take him. And he certainly didn’t regret it.

He turned his face ever so slightly into the fingers caressing his cheek. He was breathing hard, his whole body tense as Oshitari moved within him, every motion sending pleasure rippling through Tezuka’s body. He gladly accepted Oshitari’s lips, hardly aware of anything but the incredible feeling welling within him.

Still he could hear the song in his mind seeming to fuel the rhythm with which Oshitari took him. Though his vision was somewhat blurry without his glasses, he opened his eyes and looked up into the tensai’s face once the kiss was broken, both of them panting hard and longing to moan.

All of a sudden, the pace increased, and Oshitari began thrusting hard and fast, causing Tezuka’s senses to overload. He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms about the tensai’s back and arching, though it drove his shoulders uncomfortably into the edge of the stage.

“I’m coming,” he whispered, unable to hold out any longer.

As Tezuka’s release shuddered through his body, the tensai’s tightly reigned control snapped. Oshitari growled and frantically drove himself into Tezuka, instantly reaching his own climax which had been restrained for several minutes.

The following bliss was something Tezuka could barely remember even moments after it passed, and something he could never suitably describe. He felt warm and complete as Oshitari’s weight rested fully on top of him and the two lay there trying to catch their breath. Tezuka searched for some sense or an impetus to break the moment, separate, and pull on his clothes before…

A disturbing chuckle acquired their attention. 

“My, my. What would dear Keigo say, I wonder?” taunted a familiar voice.

Tezuka peered past Oshitari’s shoulder at the figure he could make out through sheer individuality of appearance. “Keep this to yourself, Yukimura,” he ordered.

“Or what?” the Rikkaidai captain asked mildly, draped over the piano as he gazed down at them. 

“Or lose Atobe through sheer force of jealousy,” Oshitari replied, hardly acknowledging the intruder as he pulled out of Tezuka and got to his feet. He threw a brief glance over his shoulder at Yukimura who was still wearing an expression of amusement by the time Tezuka had found his glasses and slipped them into place.

“I suppose that’s true,” Yukimura agreed, his eyes were firmly fixed on Tezuka. “Well, since I enjoyed the show so much, I should repay you both with a little warning. The tour is on its way in here, and your mutual disappearance has been noted.”

Tezuka stiffened in apprehension but one glance at Oshitari was enough to calm him and remind him that short of being caught in the act, there was nothing to prove they’d even been together.

Seeming rather pleased with himself, Yukimura left them with a little chuckle. Tezuka watched him go, still with a slight feeling of insecurity. He was way out of familiar territory.

Oshitari approached him from behind, sliding strong hands over his shoulders. “As unfortunate as that-” Yukimura’s appearance “-was, I very much enjoyed our little detour today,” he said.

Tezuka leaned back against his body, wondering why he was exhibiting such trust. He barely knew Oshitari as a player let alone as a person, and yet he felt like he knew the tensai almost better than he knew himself after what they’d just shared. It was almost as if Oshitari had bared his soul through the song he had played and proceeded to confirm that there was nothing further to hide.

Reluctantly, Tezuka gathered his wits and pulled away, surprised by a feeling of disappointment the moment he no longer felt Oshitari’s touch. “I’d best go find myself a viable excuse,” he said, not looking back at the tensai as he walked straight out of the auditorium.

As soon as the tour was over, he would write down his number and slip it into Oshitari’s hand. What happened from there was up to the tensai.


	2. Waltz in D Minor

Tezuka sat beside Fuji, his mind a million miles away. His fingers twitched at the remembered feeling of Oshitari’s touch as he slipped his number into the Hyoutei tensai’s hand. Oshitari’s momentary acknowledgement in the set of his eyes and very slight turn up of his lips had made Tezuka feel rather warm, and that warmth hadn’t yet faded. 

In fact, he felt rather uncomfortable sitting next to Fuji who had once filled him with a similar warmth, but the tensai had noted Tezuka’s position on the outside seat and simply stepped over him to take the window seat. If Tezuka had moved then, it would have been an obvious insult, and worsened the state of their already fragile relationship which was something that had been hidden from the team for a long time.

“Ne, Tezuka. Hyoutei is a lovely school,” Fuji began. 

“Of course,” he agreed. “Did you expect anything else?”

“Not really… Although, there was one thing that seemed out of place,” Fuji replied, a frown of curiosity bending his brows just slightly.

“Oh?” Tezuka prompted—as required.

“Mmm… Don’t you think the auditorium had that distinct smell of sex?” Fuji questioned.

“The auditorium?” Tezuka responded, his blood running cold though he did his best not to show it.

“Oh, that’s right! You weren’t there, were you? Say, what did happen to you?” Fuji asked, his eyes opening and peering into Tezuka’s, right through his glasses.

“I got lost,” Tezuka replied, with just a touch of personal chagrin so as to make the excuse realistic. “It’s a big school.” Not that it would fool Fuji. Nothing ever did.

“Aa. Well, it happened to several people. We lost Oshitari Yuushi at one stage, and even Yukimura disappeared for a little while.”

“Yukimura?” Tezuka asked lightly, as if making simple conversation rather than fending off an interrogation.

“Atobe’s current lover,” Fuji replied, obviously thinking it would hit a nerve.

“I know who Yukimura is,” Tezuka replied with just a touch more acid that he had intended. “I’d have thought he would have been too attached to Atobe’s side to wander off.”

“Seems that curiosity got the better of him,” Fuji replied. “Actually, I think he returned from the direction of the auditorium… I wonder if he was cheating on Atobe… Or maybe he saw the culprits.”

“If so, then I pity them,” Tezuka replied.

He thought it was quite a good evasion, but he wasn’t counting on one thing. By agreeing with Fuji’s supposedly ridiculous assessment that anything untoward had happened in the auditorium, he was practically admitting to his knowledge of, and thus involvement in whatever had occurred.

“I don’t,” Fuji answered, and Tezuka was too busy kicking himself to figure out what he was referring to right away. “I’m jealous,” Fuji told him, looking out the window and drawing a close to the conversation.

Looking at his ex, Tezuka felt just a tiny stab of guilt. Sometimes he got so caught up in Fuji’s games that he forgot that the tensai was just as human and fragile as everyone else. He forgot that he was in a better position to hurt Fuji than anyone else. He forgot that even though they’d broken up over Fuji’s games and puzzles, he didn’t want to hurt Fuji who had been his friend, and then his lover, for a long time. And Fuji still wasn’t over him, even after Atobe.

Stifling a sigh, Tezuka turned his eyes away from the tensai, studying the back of the seat in front of him. He wasn’t quite sure what he was getting himself into this time but he wasn’t going to sacrifice something that had potential over this. Fuji would simply have to understand that Tezuka just couldn’t handle him. He had to move on—they both did.

*

Atobe’s hips rolled continuously as Yukimura’s ass slammed down to meet him. He wound his arm about his beautiful lover’s back, pulling the rival captain down for a kiss.

As their tongues wound, bits of Yukimura’s hair fell to tickle Atobe’s face and he moaned. He loved the feel of that soft, oddly colored hair. He also loved the feel of Yukimura’s perpetually soft skin, the sight of his tender eyes, the touch of his gentle hands...

The only thing about Yukimura that was not along the lines of soft, gentle, or tender… was his tongue. When one was least expecting it, he could produce the most cutting remarks possible and manage to tear you to shreds. It took someone incredibly patient and strong to keep control of him, and that person was Atobe. It was a small sacrifice to make to keep such an incredible lover.

In fact, it was about time for-

“You don’t love me.”

Anticipating the attack, Atobe had already begun to roll them, putting himself in the dominant position—one better suited for a discussion.

“What?” he asked, prompting the explanation that was sure to come. 

It didn’t. Not really.

“That’s okay. I don’t love you, either. It’s not really something I’m capable of, but that doesn’t stop me from getting jealous,” Yukimura continued, his voice as light and sweet as ever.

Atobe, not entirely sure where it was going this time, wisely kept his mouth shut to wait out the storm. Instead, he began to rock, gently continuing the activity they had been in the midst of. Once they were done talking, he didn’t want to have to start from scratch.

“Once upon a time I would have thought the only person you could love was yourself, but now I know better.” 

Yukimura paused for a moment, gasping and closing his eyes as Atobe purposely ground firmly into his prostate—several times. He’d let Yukimura finish in a moment, but it was important to remind this lover just who was in control.

Temporarily pleased with the momentum, Atobe backed off, leaving Yukimura trembling and biting his lip. Momentarily, his fingers tightened, causing his nails to dig deeply into Atobe’s skin, and then the moment passed and Yukimura was in control of himself once more.

He opened his eyes, took a steadying breath, and continued as if nothing had happened, but there was a slight tremble to his voice that hadn’t been there previously.

Atobe was satisfied.

“You’re still in love with Tezuka,” Yukimura continued, as if Atobe wasn’t aware of the fact himself. “Whatever I am to you, I don’t really care, and it doesn’t matter who you love as long as I’m the one who excites you, but I will not accept losing you to a past lover who has already moved on.”

“What do you mean?” Atobe’s eyes narrowed and he stopped rocking. 

“Don’t stop,” Yukimura ordered.

For a moment, Atobe hesitated out of spite. However, curiosity urged him to do as Yukimura asked and resume the slow and shallow pace of their fornication. The true battle was in the words.

“A certain tensai seems to think I would lose you to jealousy if I told you what I know—but I disagree.” Yukimura looked straight up into Atobe’s eyes, their gazes locking with an intensity that very few couples could achieve. “You don’t love me, but you love to have me.”

It was true, and to prove it, Atobe forgot his wariness for long enough to respond to Yukimura’s subtle physical prompts and lean down to kiss his lover deeply. It was an intense kiss, especially in the middle of such a conversation, and Atobe found himself thrusting harder and faster into Yukimura to the point that he had to break the kiss or risk a bitten tongue.

His head bent low, he continued to drive into his lover, his breath coming heavily as his skin broke out with sweat. Yukimura’s soft, breathless whimpers reached his ears sending minute shudders through his body. Sex with Yukimura was always incredible, and he was right; Atobe never wanted to give that up. 

“And which tensai might this be?” he inquired, the words huffing out with his breath as he fucked Yukimura ever-harder. “Fuji?”

Oh, how he expected the answer to be yes. He wasn’t all that shocked to consider that Tezuka and Fuji had gotten back together but he knew it wasn’t going to last long. Tezuka would lose his patience with Fuji within a week.

“Oshitari Yuushi,” Yukimura breathed as his entire body tightened and shuddered.

Atobe was momentarily distracted by that overwhelming tautness as Yukimura clamped around him, prompting his own orgasm. It wasn’t until the waves of pleasure began to subside that he registered the name his lover had offered. As he began to collapse weakly, he suddenly found a new reserve of strength somewhere and locked his arms to support himself.

“What?” he asked, further put off by the unnatural tone of surprise in his own voice.

Yukimura wasn’t listening. He was already snuggling into the pillows with an expression of satisfaction plastered over his features. Atobe tried to snap him out of it but it was no use. Yukimura could be damn stubborn when he wanted to.

Growling in frustration, Atobe conceded this one battle out of many and left his lover lying alone in bed. He had been looking forward to holding Yukimura’s lovely body against his own as he drifted off to sleep, but instead he stormed off to have a shower and some late night tea.

Damn Yukimura and his perfectly bad timing.


	3. Fanfare

Tezuka gratefully sunk onto the bench, a towel around his neck. He groped blindly for his water bottle and took a long pull, his body hungrily accepting the cold liquid, cooling almost instantly – though not enough under the hot sun.

The match had not been too difficult once Tezuka learned to compensate for Kamio’s speed by forcing the other under his control. It was hard work, but fairly simple to attain victory. The heat had worked against them both, though. Kamio was practically flat out across the court, and Tezuka was finding it hard to balance the regaining of his breath with his dire need for water. 

He needed a shower, too.

“Congratulations,” awarded a familiar voice.

Tezuka looked up to see Fuji right beside him, smiling his usual, cheerful smile. 

“Thank you,” Tezuka accepted with a brief nod. “You came to watch?”

“Of course. We all did,” Fuji replied.

Tezuka glanced past Fuji to see his grinning team approaching to offer him their praise.

“Don’t you have a match soon over at court F?” Tezuka asked, returning his attention to the tensai.

“Aa. But I decided to watch yours before I warm up. Your form inspires me.”

Before Tezuka could so much as glower at the subtext of that statement, he was barraged with claps on the shoulder and cheerful accolades. He glimpsed Echizen standing back behind Momoshiro and Kaidoh, the rookie tipping his hat as if to say ‘well done’ before taking a sip of his Ponta.

“You’ll make it to the camp this year, Tezuka. And it’s about time,” Oishi told him, the pride and happiness in his voice unmistakable.

For just one moment, Tezuka caught that sentiment and felt tears sting his eyes which he hid by dabbing his sweaty face with a towel. He had indeed been kept out of the running by his injuries for several years. It wasn’t a major training camp, as the Juniors had been held before the National Tournament, but to finally be able to take part… 

Having completed the first round of a minimum of four qualifications rounds for the Kantou region, Tezuka felt more enthusiastic than he had in a long time, and he wanted to share that excitement – but not with his team. He had an image to maintain.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice brimming with pride though he tried to keep a lid on it. He rose and nodded at his friends and peers. “I need to take a shower.”

With that, he left his grinning team behind and headed off the court into the locker room. Sengoku, Kiyosumi was already there, stretching in preparation for his coming match.

“How did it go?” asked the cheerful redhead. “Took longer than I expected.”

“Then I apologize for the delay,” Tezuka replied. “But Kamio-kun is not an opponent to be underestimated.”

Sengoku snorted. “Maybe not, but he’s not quite at your level.”

“You’re playing Sanada?” Tezuka confirmed, hanging up his sweat drenched neck towel and taking a fresh one from his locker.

“Yeah.” Sengoku winked. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and that tight cap of his’ll finally cut off the blood to his brain.”

Briefly, Tezuka glanced at Sengoku, sizing him up. Before, he wouldn’t have afforded the boy a chance, but despite his words, Sengoku no longer relied on luck to defeat his opponents. His new style might just be fresh enough and simple enough to take on Sanada’s ironically flashy tennis where Tezuka had failed at the Nationals. Sanada would lose to Echizen in a later match. If Sengoku won, then that would almost take Sanada out of the running.

“I won’t wish you luck,” Tezuka said as he stripped off his shirt and headed towards the showers. “You shouldn’t need it.”

*

Tezuka had only meant to spend a short time in the shower. Wash the sweat off his skin and out of his hair, cool his body a little… 

Instead, he got lost under the spray, the luke-warm water running down his body and allowing him to relax. The tension that went along with a match subsided and he was able to think back to ‘before’ the match. ‘Before’ the preparation. ‘Before’ the morning.

He thought of his excursion to Hyoutei the day before, and of Oshitari, and with a little jolt, he realized that that was who he wanted to share his excitement with. He wanted to call the tensai, and express how happy he was, and how excited and scared. He wanted to hear Oshitari’s congratulations and thrive on that praise. He wanted to ask Oshitari out on a date – because after his clean victory, he felt confident in himself as he hadn’t since his loss to Sanada. 

Perhaps that was what had been missing from his tennis and allowing him to lose. Both before his relapsed injury and after his recovery, he had not played any serious matches against opponents skilled or otherwise. Perhaps it was sheer experience missing from his tennis that had allowed him to fall flat against both Atobe and Sanada. All of a sudden, he felt like he was finally getting back into the game and that boost of confidence was going to do wonders for his tennis.

Not to mention other aspects of his life. He was young, but his relationship with Fuji had been long and serious. He had loved the tensai, and to be honest, he still did to an extent. He didn’t think he would ever be able to truly move on from the ups and downs of that relationship, especially not with Fuji constantly in his daily life as a friend and team-mate. Maybe Tezuka should seriously consider moving to Hyoutei. He had a feeling Fuji was leaning towards Rikkaidai.

Snorting to himself, Tezuka flicked his head back, letting the cooling water wash over his face. 

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

No matter how hard it was to deal with Fuji at his side, Atobe would be far, far worse. The diva would never afford him a moment’s peace. They would be rivals in tennis, rivals in school, rivals for captaincy… Rivals in just about anything. Either Atobe would never forgive Tezuka for the break up, or he would never stop trying to get Tezuka back into bed. Both were practically unbearable options.

On the other hand, Oshitari went to Hyoutei. If they really did start something serious, something good…

Tezuka sighed, knowing he was overly emotional. The adrenaline in his system was latching onto thoughts and feelings he would never normally allow. He was acting stupid and childish. He was foolish to even think of calling Oshitari to say ‘I won!’ when it should be obvious against such an opponent, and anyone might have assumed-

“Tezuka?”

Stiffening in surprised response to the voice calling his name, Tezuka froze.

“In the shower,” he called, regaining his speech after a moment and grateful that his voice came out smooth and controlled.

“Then I’ll wait,” Oshitari told him. “Out here,” he said, his voice sounding from just outside the shower cubicle.

“I’m finished.”

Tezuka turned off the taps, using the action to still the sudden, inexplicable trembling of his hands. What was Oshitari doing there? He didn’t have a match for another two days according to the line-ups. Did he come just to watch Tezuka?

Of course not. He came to watch Atobe whose match against Rokkaku’s Kurobane must have just stared.

“Aren’t you missing Atobe’s match?” Tezuka asked, as non-chalantly as he could manage as he wiped the water from his eyes.

“He won’t miss me.”

Tezuka startled as he heard the curtain clatter open and he was suddenly embraced in a warm, dry towel with Oshitari’s arms surrounding both it and him. He felt slightly vulnerable, captured so by his lover of only one day who he knew barely anything about.

That Oshitari would presume as much as to-

“I wasn’t going to watch, but I couldn’t resist,” Oshitari murmured, his attractive voice temporarily smoothing away any doubts. “You’ve always been a pleasure to watch on the courts, but this was different. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from you.”

Tezuka shivered. Perhaps in response to the words, or perhaps from the combined warmth of a fresh towel and a tensai wrapped around him, driving the residual cold of the spray from his body.

He sucked in a breath. “I…” but he didn’t know what to say. 

He just didn’t know. 

Memories of the previous day flooded his mind. He was getting way ahead of himself, but what he felt with Oshitari was something completely new and so… full. He’d never felt so close to anyone after such a short association, perhaps not even after all the time he had spent with Fuji. It was strange and confusing, and he knew his decisions were compromised by what could be as fickle as a temporary hormonal imbalance, but… He didn’t want to pass up such strong feelings.

And yet he had no idea of what to expect. What kind of relationship were they bound for? Was Oshitari experiencing the same surprising feelings? Was he really this spontaneous, or was it a ploy? Was Tezuka going to get himself hurt?

He thought of Fuji and Atobe and the failure of those ventures, and wondered just what he thought would be different this time around. Was it worth the risk?

“I’m glad you came,” he said in a calm, precise voice, just to shut up his confusion-numbed mind. “I was going to call, but I realized I didn’t have your number.” Just saying those mundane words relieved him enough that he could relax in Oshitari’s arms and let his damp body sink into the towel. After all, he’d thrown away his chance to back off.

“Then I’ll have to give it you,” Oshitari replied, gently kissing Tezuka’s jaw. “Judging by how much I’ve missed you since only yesterday-” another kiss, closer to Tezuka’s lips “-I think it best that we’re able to contact each other freely.” Barely a brush at the very corner of Tezuka’s mouth. “Do you agree?”

Unable to resist the invitation, Tezuka turned and pulled his arms free, wrapping them about Oshitari’s neck as he met the tensai in a deeper kiss than he had expected. 

He forgot the towel, which fell to the tiles, soaking up the moisture at their feet.

*

Yukimura was momentarily distracted from Sengoku’s serve, his eyes slipping towards the distant Eastern locker rooms where a familiar dark-haired Hyoutei-an disappeared through the doorway. That was Tezuka’s locker room. He wondered if Atobe had already noted the absence from his observing—and adoring—team.

Well, it wasn’t really any of Yukimura’s business… Except that the whole situation was rather interesting. 

*

Tezuka moaned, reassured that Oshitari’s wonderful kisses of the previous day were not just a fluke. They certainly seemed to have good chemistry in that department, their lips fitting and moving together perfectly, their tongues dancing in a subtle battle for dominance without ever really clashing.

Being naked, Tezuka did not have the upper hand. He was certainly in the more vulnerable position, but this time, it was his game. This time around, it was ‘his’ performance to captivate Oshitari, and he intended to make use of it.

He slid his hand up the tensai’s back, his fingers very gently brushing the nape of a bare neck. Oshitari shuddered under the touch, and Tezuka made a mental note of the sensitive spot.

He brought his other hand around, sliding it up inside the shirt of the other athlete, feeling out the elegant muscles hidden beneath slightly baggy clothes. Pleased by Oshitari’s relinquishment of power, he began to play a little game with the tensai’s tongue, retreating whenever his lover grew even slightly aggressive.

Tezuka was in control, and that was what he wanted. He wanted to know that he ‘could’ take charge—that Oshitari would let him.

*

Fuji didn’t play aggressive tennis. He let his opponent’s strength become his. Of course, the problem with that strategy lay in playing a weak opponent. You can’t use an opponent’s strength against them if they don’t have any.

His counter tennis sealed by the pure incapability of the unknown player, Fuji’s tennis, and his mood, became aggressive. He began slamming the ball across the court, eliciting an error here or there. He even racked up one or two double faults, forgetting—or rather, irrationally deciding that it was unnecessary to keep his composure.

And still, he won. Not as flawlessly as he should have, and certainly not in any blaze of glory, but he won easily enough. He put the ball away with a simple smash afforded by a stupid lob, shook his opponent’s hand, and stalked off the court, his smile feeling more like a glower only to himself.

“Fuji-senpai,” came an impudent drawl, “Mada mada dane.”

“Gomen, ne, Echizen,” Fuji replied, his voice almost acidically sweet. All of a sudden, he frowned—well, it was his version of a frown, his smile rounding out a little. “Where’s Tezuka?”

“Who knows?” Echizen responded with a shrug.

“Fujiko, not bad, hoi? Don’t listen to O’chibi, he’s just being mean,” Eiji chirped, jumping in.

“Thanks, Eiji,” Fuji said with an honestly grateful smile for his friend’s support. He was fully aware of how badly he had played, but it was nice of the acrobat to try and cheer him up. Fuji didn’t need cheering, though. What he needed was for Tezuka to scold him and tear apart his awful game-play. What he needed was to know that Tezuka cared even that much—enough to watch his game—enough to be angry with him for screwing up.

The disappointment of that expectation hurt.

*

It was slippery in the shower, and Tezuka found himself gripping the meager edges of tiles to his left to steady himself as he drove into Oshitari.

The tensai was bent over, his outstretched arms pushing off the tiled wall and absorbing every increasingly intense thrust. Tezuka’s other hand held the tensai’s hip, keeping both of them from slipping on the wet surface and yet endangering their stability at the same time.

It wasn’t easy, but it was good. Damn good.

Oshitari was an incredible lover. Sexy sounds dripped from his lips like honey and his body reacted perfectly to Tezuka’s every action. He clenched when Tezuka most wanted it, and his rhythm adjusted frequently to Tezuka’s control of the pace. It was like they were made for each other.

Tezuka was briefly able to identify a little lump in his chest that he suspected had something to do with feelings deeper than he should have after such a short time of intimate acquaintance with the tensai. But he did feel it. Happiness. Joy. Something he hadn’t experienced in a very long time, if ever.

And then it was forgotten, the heat in Tezuka’s body driving away sentiment in favor of pleasure. His head rolling back on his neck, Tezuka’s hips took control and he let out a little groan of satisfaction as he released himself into Oshitari’s ass. The tensai clamped around him and Tezuka blindly reached down, wrapping his hand about Oshitari’s length.

It only took a stroke or two for the tensai to join him in orgasm, and then they were on the floor, Tezuka leaning against the wall and holding Oshitari in his arms. With his eyes closed, he could smell the scent of sex all over them and weakly reached up to turn on the taps, carefully adjusting the heat so that they weren’t jolted by cold water or scolded by hot.

As the water trickled over them, Tezuka appreciated the shape and feel of Oshitari in his arms. It was different to that of his previous, slighter lovers. He decided he liked it.

*

Atobe narrowed his eyes as he approached his waiting team. Oshitari had not returned.

“Ore-sama is magnificent, ne?” he urged, indicating that the tension of the tensai’s disappearance was to be immediately dropped and praise lavished on Atobe instead.

His glower did not fade, though, as he sunk onto his bench, accepting the cool, wet towel that Ootori handed him. Kabaji placed his jacket over his shoulders, and Atobe leaned back, staring up at the sky.

It was so hard to appreciate his overwhelming victory when he knew his own subordinate was off somewhere with his ex—an ex he was not over at all.

Sensing a keen gaze on him, Atobe sat up a little, looking across the court. Yukimura was there with a couple of drinks in his hand, wearing that smug smile of his.

After catching Atobe’s eyes for a scant moment, he continued back to the court where Sanada was playing.

*

Tezuka was used to snuggling after sex, though not after such public sex. Once the lethargy of orgasm wore off, he was a little tense, returning Oshitari’s light embrace and shallow, gentle kisses.

“Relax,” Oshitari urged. “Sengoku’s match is going to go on for a while. He won’t be back any time soon.”

“We should be more careful,” Tezuka replied as he dodged Oshitari’s next kiss. He was fully aware of Yukimura’s observance the day before, and that they couldn’t afford for their infant-staged relationship to become public knowledge just yet, if ever.

“You look incredible without your glasses.” Oshitari murmured, deciding to ignore Tezuka’s paranoia. He then kissed Tezuka’s jaw very lightly. “Do you mind if I call you Kunimitsu? Is there a nickname you prefer?”

Tezuka generally had a tighter reign on his reactions, but he couldn’t suppress the little twitch that ran through him at the use of that name. Nobody had called him that for a long time. Not even his mother.

It was something Fuji had often used to manipulate him, something the tensai had exploited and ruined. Once, Tezuka had liked to hear Fuji mutter his name after sex, or as a whisper in the corridor. Now, he couldn’t stand the sound of it.

Oshitari sighed suddenly and pulled away, his lips drawn down into a grimace.

“What’s wrong?” Tezuka asked, discomfort at the name forgotten as his heart fluttered uncomfortably in his chest with the fear that he’d done something he shouldn’t have.

“Nothing,” Oshitari replied instantly. “Except that I’m moving too fast for you.”

Tezuka was taken aback and floundered for a moment. Hadn’t he been the one in control, the one steering and guiding their actions this time, the one who decided whether or not they were going to have sex?

“What?” he asked stupidly.

The tensai was already on his feet, reaching beyond the curtain for a towel. “I’m coming on too strongly, cornering you like this, asking about nicknames... I feel close to you, so I’m moving faster than I should… I want to consolidate our relationship, but not until you’re ready.” The word relationship was said with only a touch of hesitation, Oshitari meeting Tezuka’s eyes before he looked away and pulled his pants on.

“I’m ready,” Tezuka argued, his hand on the wall to support him to his feet. Neither Fuji nor Atobe would ever sacrifice their needs because they thought Tezuka was having second thoughts. It was …really sweet, a sign that Oshitari truly cared. He picked up the tensai’s glasses near his feet. “I...” How could he be so sure of himself, and yet so unsure…? “Honestly, I-”

Oshitari pressed a finger firmly against his lips, halting him in his tracks.

“We got off to a wonderful start, yesterday,” he began, his lips twitching at the innuendo. “But not the best of foundations. I’ve learned that I want more from you than sex.” The tensai released Tezuka abruptly and backed out of the cubicle. “I’m not content to base a relationship on sex, and I doubt that you are. I want do this properly.” He moved out of sight for a moment, returning with another dry towel and Tezuka’s clothes which he hung on the rail across from the showers. “Get dressed. We’re going on a date.”

“Now?” Tezuka asked almost incredulously. 

“Yes,” the tensai replied, replacing the glasses which he’d subtly taken from Tezuka’s limp fingers.

“Atobe-”

“-Has doubtlessly already won. Why should he expect me to stay and watch a pre-ordained outcome?”

That was probably the one argument Atobe would forgive, Tezuka realized.

But where Atobe might forgive Oshitari, there were others who might not be so benevolent. 

“I can’t. Not right now,” Tezuka said quietly. “My team supported me. I need to repay their loyalty.”

“Fuji?” Oshitari asked quietly, ducking into his shirt to avoid eye contact. He was obviously aware of the past relationship.

“Fuji’s match is already over,” Tezuka replied with confidence. “He won’t forgive me for missing it, but he’ll be even angrier if I miss Echizen’s.”

“I see,” Oshitari muttered, nudging his glasses further up his nose. “Then I’d better not keep you any longer.”

“Oshitari.” Tezuka’s soft appeal stopped the retreating tensai. “I want to go on that date. Are you free tonight?”

“I will be,” Oshitari replied, half turning with a little smile to show that he was appeased. “And call me Yuushi.”

Tezuka watched him go, unable to hold back a smile of his own. Fuji’s inevitable anger seemed infinitely more bearable.


	4. Quickstep

There really was a sense of finesse to Tezuka’s tennis. Every movement was well timed, well executed… and looked good. From his precise, elegant serve, to the way he framed the racket, Tezuka’s game was aesthetically pleasing.

But that wasn’t all. It was also efficient and effective.

He never moved more than he had to, never overplayed a step, never pushed his opponents too far, just far enough – and with every match Tezuka won, his confidence grew and his game evolved notch by notch.

It wasn’t something everyone would be able to see. It wasn’t obvious at all. Oshitari saw it because he was looking for it.

He didn’t know Tezuka all that well, not as well as certain others such as one Fuji, Syusuke who was intently observing Tezuka’s match against Atobe. Still, Oshitari had noticed a subtle but noticeable change in Tezuka’s personality since their first date, and once he started looking for that same confidence boost in the Seigaku captain’s tennis, it was relatively easy to spot.

Oshitari didn’t know why Tezuka had been doubting himself, but he did know that whatever it was, Tezuka was now over it. He was playing flawlessly—and that was grinding on Atobe’s nerves. Without fatal weaknesses in an opponent, Atobe’s form of aggressive counter-tennis was useless.

Not that Atobe was a meager player in any aspect. His game was well rounded. It was just that Tezuka’s… seemed to be better.

*

As first dates went, this one was progressing quite well, considering that they’d already had sex twice… The food was good, the coffee was even better, and the third floor view of Ebisu was lovely.

Before dinner, they’d discussed tennis—a nice comfortable topic for them both. During dinner, there was a bit of light chatter about their families. After dinner, they talked about school—what subjects they enjoyed and what they thought about their teachers… It was pleasant, informative, and made Oshitari feel extremely happy to be where he was.

It wasn’t like they knew everything about each other already, but it was a promising start to filling in the gaps with which they had begun. 

“Yuushi…” 

It was obvious that Tezuka was still struggling with the informality, and he apologized with a little embarrassed smile, so Oshitari graciously decided to ignore the anomaly and nodded in acknowledgment of the coming change of subject…

Tezuka regained his composure, pasting on his ‘business face’. “I’ve been thinking a lot since this morning, and although I’m not entirely sure where this is going, I know it’s something I want to continue—which is why I have to set some ground rules.”

“Go on,” Oshitari drawled, having an idea of where Tezuka was going.

“I am still captain of Seigaku and even though the inter-school tournament has ended, it is my duty to afford my full attention to my team and their training. That’s not to say I mean to shut you out completely, just that in any situation where my time or loyalties are divided, my team must come first. That is what I chose when I accepted captaincy,” Tezuka told him, stiff and formal in his nervousness that Oshitari would object.

Instead, the tensai nodded, unable to keep a satisfied smirk off his face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said. And he wouldn’t. One of Tezuka’s most endearing surface-qualities was his devotion to his team. “Obviously I have less obligations than someone of your rank, but I also fully intend to devote my support to my team during our remaining time as a whole—now that we’ve reached an… agreement, that is,” he added with a touch of chagrin for his earlier behavior.

Tezuka caught it as expected, and relaxed a little in return. “I’m sure Atobe will be glad to hear that.”

“Not really, but at least he won’t be able to yell at me for it,” Oshitari replied, his eyes sparkling with mirth. 

Was it his fault if Atobe’s scolding had been heard by half the spectators upon Oshitari’s re-appearance? Hardly. The diva had a flare for drama—and it wasn’t that Oshitari had forgotten that, he just didn’t care. Let Atobe berate him for his ‘lack of loyalty’. It was a minor transgression and all would be forgiven with each victory Oshitari won in the name of Hyoutei.

Humor set aside for one last serious subject, Tezuka cradled his coffee cup in his hands and looked Oshitari in the eyes. “When I play Atobe on Saturday…”

“My full support will be behind him, win or lose,” the tensai finished as expected.

“Good.” Tezuka offered another one of those rare smiles—and Oshitari decided that his short term goal was going to be in raising the percentage of those smiles. “So,-” and back to their previously scheduled date, “-do you play any other instruments?”

Oshitari wasn’t blind to Tezuka’s very slight blush following the question, and he found it… interesting.

*

“Yuushi, you’d better wipe that smirk off your face before Atobe sees it,” Gakuto warned in a nervous whisper.

Glancing down at his regular doubles partner, Oshitari raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t realized he was smirking.

“Gomen, Gakuto,” he said, with a little smile for his worried friend.

The acrobat snorted. “Don’t apologize to me… But whatever’s going on with you, you’d better decide what comes first between it and the team, and by ‘the team’ I mean Atobe, cause he’s the one that’s gonna kill you.”

“The team, naturally,” Oshitari replied without skipping a beat. That was, of course, what he and Tezuka had agreed upon. 

It was just difficult to watch Tezuka play and not be emotionally—or hormonally—affected, despite his earlier promise. Besides, Atobe was losing rather ungraciously.

*

Tezuka backed up two steps, delayed his swing for a moment, and then, with a little jump, brought his racket down to meet Atobe’s defensive lob, sending the ball smashing across the court.

A lesser opponent would never be able to return that smash—but Atobe was nothing of the sort. With a burst of strength and agility, he sent the ball flying cross-court. 

But Tezuka was already there. He was ready and waiting. He judged the speed, trajectory, and weight of the ball, adjusted his racket, and prepared himself for the impact—and sent the ball sailing just over the net with a perfect Zero Shiki Drop Shot.

There was nothing Atobe could do. He charged towards the net, made a dive for the ball, and tripped in the frantic attempt.

Tezuka let his tension out with a breath. It had been a difficult rally and an important point, consolidating the second break of Atobe’s serve.

Looking down into frustrated blue eyes, Tezuka extended a hand to his ex, but Atobe angrily swatted it away and climbed to his feet without help. He dusted himself down, mostly for show as there wasn’t a speck of dirt on the court, and then raised his eyes to Tezuka.

“It isn’t over,” he said, his voice tight with emotion and adrenaline.

For the briefest of moments, Tezuka got the impression that he wasn’t talking about the game, but then Atobe picked up his racket and walked off the court. Tezuka had almost forgotten they were due for a break.

“How’s your arm?” Oishi asked immediately, his expression etched with worry.

“Fine,” Tezuka replied honestly.

“That drop shot…”

“I didn’t have a choice,” the captain replied. “Atobe would have caught a normal shot on the bounce.”

“Tezuka, the way that ball was flying towards you, it can’t have been easy on your arm to convert it… At least use some ice.”

Tezuka didn’t want to show any weakness.

“Please?”

It didn’t even hurt.

“Buchou. If you lose to him again due to injury, we’ll have to put up with his stupid bragging for the whole camp,” Echizen drawled, sipping a can of Ponta as he sauntered over to throw in his two yen.

Fine.

*

Oshitari frowned as he peered over at Tezuka’s bench. Seigaku’s captain was holding an ice pack to his arm. Had he re-injured it returning that heavy ball? Or was it the Zero Shiki that took its toll on his arm? Yes, the angle of his elbow when he hit that drop did seem a touch precarious, and when used to return a ball like the one Atobe had flung at him…

“Stop fretting. There’s nothing wrong with it,” Atobe murmured.

Oshitari glanced briefly at Atobe before realizing it was him the diva was speaking to.

“Ara? Nothing wrong with what?” he asked. The notion that Atobe had injured himself in the fall took a momentary hold over his mind, but his captain dashed that theory.

“Tezuka’s arm, you moron. There’s nothing wrong. He’s just babying it.”

Oshitari stiffened at Atobe’s sullen reply. What did Atobe know? Everything, it seemed. That also changed everything.

Lowering his chin, Oshitari adjusted his glasses. It was time to forget about Tezuka. He could handle himself. Meanwhile, Atobe was losing a mental battle and now Oshitari knew why.

“Then perhaps you should try a different tactic,” the tensai suggested. “It’s no good trying to hack at diamonds with a knife.”

Tezuka’s confidence was so solid that Atobe’s usual ‘seek weakness and destroy’ method was futile. Instead, he was stubbornly taking the rebound and destroying himself instead.

“Are you implying that Ore-sama’s game is less than perfect?” Atobe challenged, one dangerous eyebrow raised.

“That is exactly what I’m saying,” Oshitari replied.

*

Atobe had to hand it to the tensai. Oshitari really knew how to play both sides. Considering it was probably him who had given Tezuka such diamond studded confidence in the first place, he had a lot of nerve insulting Atobe’s concentration.

It just happened that he was right, and when Atobe saw sense in the suggestion and calmed himself down, he was able to see the path before him more clearly. The only way to beat such a Tezuka was simply by being better than him. Atobe had to raise the level of his tennis and play with 100% committed aggression.

He had let anger and jealousy sneak into his game, forcing his actions and compromising his judgment. Ironically, he had Oshitari to thank for that error as well as for correcting it.

“How’s the arm?” Atobe asked as he and Tezuka passed each other, changing courts.

“Fine,” Tezuka replied without a waver.

“Good. That traitorous tensai of mine will be relieved.”

Tezuka did falter a step at that revelation, but he regained his composure nicely, smoothly walking to the service position.

Atobe broke Tezuka back, 15 – 40. It wasn’t easy, but it didn’t take an excess of effort once he focused and fought. Then, it was his serve.

Looking across the court at his opponent, he took a moment to remember the brief, rocky, and devastating relationship they’d had together—which had been the highest point in Atobe’s young life. He could make out Tezuka’s deep brown eyes, staring intently at him and waiting for his serve. Those eyes were the first thing he’d fallen in love with.

He’d always thought Tezuka looked better without his glasses.

Throwing the ball up in the air, Atobe jumped to meet it, knees bent, body extended—and slammed the ball with his racket, sending it hard and fast across the court. It rose with a little kick, and Tezuka had no time to react as it caught the edge of his glasses and sent them flying.

Raising a hand in obligatory apology, Atobe couldn’t keep a slight smile from his face. Tezuka was not going to control this match any longer.

*

Oshitari brought his knuckle to his lips, paying close attention to the match while his mind was simultaneously elsewhere.

Atobe was now methodically and symbolically destroying his ties with Tezuka. He was trying to stop loving Tezuka by forcing himself to denounce everything he loved about Tezuka. It was a great strategy—for the match—but it was only going to make him crash harder once everything was over and he realized that you can’t stop loving someone just because you want to. If Tezuka won—and the odds were still in his favor—Atobe’s resulting crash would only be worse. Oshitari was going to have to prove himself, because he refused to let Tezuka go, and Atobe was not going to like that at all.

Forming a relationship with Tezuka was the easy part. Keeping it was going to take everything Oshitari had.

At first, it had been a little experiment. He was tired of always being alone, of watching Atobe go through relationship after relationship and never even looking at him. He’d noticed just how much Atobe still gazed after Tezuka even after they’d broken up, even after Yukimura had entered the picture. He’d wondered what was so special about Tezuka.

So he’d done a little research. He’d observed Tezuka’s matches. He’d looked into past relationships—and found only Atobe, which he already knew about, and the bombshell that was Fuji. Not that it had surprised him to find that Tezuka and Fuji had been involved, but a lot of digging had uncovered a long, deep relationship that had ended rather badly. 

Oshitari had gained a new sense of respect for Tezuka, having never noticed any such thing affect him. In retrospect, there were signs of it between the two of them, but nothing that couldn’t easily be explained by other things.

So Oshitari had grown interested. He’d paid close attention to Tezuka’s finals match against Sanada, and Tezuka’s incredible potential had woken something in Oshitari.

He’d wanted to learn more, to find out if maybe what Atobe found in Tezuka during their relationship was something Oshitari had previously begun to long for. 

He bided his time, observed the circumstances, and made his move. He lured Tezuka away from the others during the tour of Hyoutei High, playing the obliging guide, and pointing out a rock climbing station that was unlikely to be on the vast list of facilities to tour.

Tezuka had, of course, been interested, and after a little visit to the station, it hadn’t been too difficult to get Tezuka where Oshitari wanted him—the auditorium. His interest in Tezuka had been dutifully flared and nurtured. He needed something to make Tezuka interested in him. 

The one thing that could do that, aside from tennis, was Oshitari’s violin. Tezuka wasn’t a musician, but he had a healthy interest in music. If Oshitari played his ‘cards’ right, he’d have Tezuka in the palm of his hand.

And he did. He got Tezuka exactly where he wanted—and the view took his breath away.

What he hadn’t expected was to fall so hard himself. He never noticed the transition from keen interest to sexual and romantic feelings. Before he knew it, he lost control, pouring himself into the playing of his violin and through that into Tezuka. 

And he got lost.

Now, he’d begun something he hadn’t exactly intended to. He’d been curious, and he’d followed the path of that curiosity, but he hadn’t expected to find anything substantial at the end of that road. What he did find had blown his mind, and now he didn’t want to let it go.

He hadn’t anticipated the need to stand up to Atobe, but now he could clearly see that obstacle before him, and he would surpass it or be crushed, because he was too far gone to turn back. Worse, he’d dragged Tezuka along for the ride. Maybe not with love, but certainly with a good dose of passion.

*“How far do you intend this to go?” Tezuka had asked as they lay on the edge of the stage, on the verge of sleeping together despite all odds and better judgment.

“How far will you let it?” Oshitari had replied.*

In that moment, he’d put the ball in Tezuka’s court, and in doing so, had opened Tezuka up to a world of potential pain and disappointment. Tezuka had become vulnerable, and Oshitari had selfishly noted and allowed it, and that was now his responsibility. 

He owed it to Tezuka not to let him be hurt again, not like Fuji had, not like Atobe could have.

The last week had not given Oshitari any reason to regret his mistake. The little, trivial things he had learned about Tezuka—the things that people think don’t hold any bearing on a relationship, the things that usually get overlooked and cause all the real problems—those little things had drawn them closer together, emotionally rather than sexually. In a week, they had formed the basis of a relationship that could heal and satisfy them both, if only it could survive.

Not that Oshitari doubted it would. He would stand firm, and so would Tezuka. They would grow closer, and together they would face whatever was thrown at them.

Beginning with Tezuka’s victory over Atobe as Tezuka’s drop volley landed well behind Hyoutei’s captain, bouncing low, and striking the court a second time before Atobe could even react.

The match was over. Tezuka had won.


	5. First Movement

Yukimura hissed as he was tossed about like a ragdoll. His back, the only thing supported by Atobe as the diva threw him down on the bed, protested, and he squirmed to relieve the awkward position even as Atobe kissed him hard.

He wasn’t surprised by the rough greeting. In fact, he had been expecting it, though that didn’t make it any less pleasant—not if he wasn’t in control.

Atobe could be as rough as he liked, but not without prior consent.

Yukimura rallied his strength and pushed the diva over, quickly crawling to pin Atobe down by the shoulders before he could master his surprise and fight back.

“Uh ah,” Yukimura murmured, shaking his head. “Not until you listen.”

“Don’t tell Ore-sama what to do!” Atobe snapped.

It was so cute the way his hair fell about his face, especially when he was mad. And with his arms pinned down, he really couldn’t do anything about it.

“I’m not telling you to do anything,” Yukimura clarified, leaning down to place a very soft kiss at the corner of Atobe’s lips, and then continued speaking, softly and sweetly. “I’m giving you a choice. You listen, or I leave you to deal with your frustration all alone.”

Atobe struggled. Yukimura held him down.

"You got your ass kicked."

Atobe scowled.

"In more ways than one."

Glare of Ultimate Doom.

"But it's not the end of the world."

Perhaps a moment of enlightenme- nope, still the Glare of Ultimate Doom.

"At least you're not the only one who's miserable."

That produced the slightest hint of interest—the diva's glare receding into a self-pitying pout. 

"What makes you think I'm miserable?" he asked, the words contradicting his expression. "I'm angry. Oshitari's going to pay for betraying me, and when I'm through with Tezuka-"

"Like you got through with him today?" Yukimura asked, his sweetness a fragile mask for the insult.

"I won't make the same mistakes again," Atobe replied with confidence.

"Oh, but you will, Keigo," Yukimura purred. "Again, and again, and again—until you let him go."

Atobe growled. "Get off me."

"Hmm? No, dear, I'll get you off later, but this is time to talk, not play. Now, as I was saying: You're not alone, wallowing in your angst. I happened to catch a little patch of Fuji-kun's game last weekend, and I'm horrified to say it was even worse than yours was today. In fact, there was something about the way he was smiling today—like milk gone sour..."

"What's your damn point?" Atobe snapped, interested enough to push the issue, but still not quite seeing the significance.

"My point, Keigo, is that you may have an ally where you least expect to find one," Yukimura told him.

Surely Atobe would have had several things to say about that speculation. He didn't understand, yet—wouldn't understand until much later. So Yukimura immediately forced Atobe to think of other things.

It wasn't easy to turn an angry man passionate but it just so happened that that was one of Yukimura's many talents, and one that he was more than happy to take advantage of. With one unavoidable, deep, distracting kiss, he had Atobe back to where they had started—only without the unwelcome rough play.

*

Fuji sat on his bed, holding his favorite cactus and stroking it—yes, stroking it. Somehow, the sharp, scratchy, stinging spines comforted him in ways he wasn't ready to admit he needed comforting.

The thing was, he hadn't realized how much he depended on Tezuka.

When they'd first met, he hadn't felt 'drawn' to Tezuka like out of a novel or anything, but he had been interested. They were in different classes, and the only time they saw each other was at tennis practice. They didn't really talk much at first—Tezuka had had a friend in Oishi and Eiji had latched himself to Fuji's side almost instantly. The first years weren't particularly close; picking up balls and swinging rackets didn't seem to be the kinds of activities that encouraged bonding but still, Fuji was interested.

He'd always had a keen eye for tennis, among other things, so he could tell quite early on that Tezuka not only had a lot of potential but that he'd already begun to tap into it. He wouldn't last long as an unremarked first year and neither would Fuji, of course.

So Fuji was interested. He watched Tezuka when he could, and occasionally he contemplated the young boy's mysterious talent that hadn't yet been exposed, instead of doing the self study that had been imposed or taking notes that were potential exam material. It wasn't like he'd ever needed to do those things to maintain his grades. He only had to observe the material once to understand it, and even if he didn't remember it per se, he was able to figure it out quickly enough in practical use. So he found himself thinking about Tezuka more than one usually thought about a person they rarely spoke to.

Then things changed. People began to notice what Fuji had seen right from the beginning. They began to pay attention to Tezuka, and sometimes not for the best. When it was discovered that Tezuka was left handed and had been beating senpais with his right, Fuji was at the other end of the court. He could only watch in horror as the enraged senpai struck a vicious blow to Tezuka's left arm.

Back then, he'd thought it was over for Tezuka. He'd thought the boy's arm would never recover. He'd thought he had forever lost the opportunity to know just what kind of strength lay within that potential opponent.

And somehow, Tezuka's misfortune impacted upon Fuji's tennis. He didn't want to play anymore. He didn't want to beat people just because he could. He didn't want to do what Tezuka couldn't.

Funny how people didn't reach these epiphany's sometimes until years later. Fuji sat there, one hand curled around the cactus pot, almost white with stress. He failed to notice he had pricked his finger, continuing to press it into the sharp spine because he was too far gone to register the pain. 

He'd never made the connection. He'd never realized that his lack of drive could be attributed to that moment he'd seen Tezuka's life shatter. A seed had been planted that day that bloomed into a weed, strangling and smothering Fuji's tennis.

His hand twitched—and pain lanced through Fuji's finger, drawing him back to the present. He winced as he saw how deeply the spine was embedded in his finger.

Gingerly, he withdrew the digit and watched blood well to the surface. Tears swam in his eyes, but he'd already left the pain behind—at least, the physical.

He was never quite sure how things had happened. He'd pretended he hadn't seen what happened that day, and he'd challenged Tezuka to a match, relieved that the boy had been able to return to tennis after all, expecting that it meant his arm wasn't hurt as badly as it had seemed. He'd been desperate to take the opportunity to face Tezuka before it was lost again but Tezuka couldn't play with his left arm. He couldn't play at full strength and half was not enough to challenge Fuji in the least. 

Fuji won. Easily. And felt absolutely miserable about it.

Winning meant nothing. That was the message that had settled into his bones that day, and from that point on he had played to win only when his opponent deserved crushing—until recently. The match he'd played against Niou was... it was unfulfilling but it held the promise of a match to come—a match Fuji doubted would ever come unless things changed.

Sighing, he set the cactus down on his bedside table and lay back, staring out the top of the window behind him at the night sky, almost gray with light reflected off of smog and cloud.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost remember the feel of Tezuka's fingers on his cheek. 

*

"I'm sorry," Tezuka said yet again, apologizing for something that wasn't his fault.

"It's fine," Fuji replied, and if his smile was just a touch strained at having this conversation again, well, who was to blame him?

"It's not. You're disappointed. I couldn't give you what you wanted."

Fuji sighed. He'd been about to take a sip of his shake but if he had to hear Tezuka apologize one more time...

He turned to face the boy who had become his friend over the last couple of weeks. "Why does it bother you so much?"

Tezuka met his eyes from behind those ever present glass panes. "Because I wanted to give you the match you longed for. I wanted to give you the challenge you craved. But I failed."

Uncomfortable for once, Fuji looked away. "It's not your fault," he said for the umpteenth time. "You're the one who's suffering, so think about yourself instead of me."

"Fuji..." Tezuka's fingers curled around his arm, and Fuji glanced down at them instead of meeting the boy's eyes. 

"Yes?" Fuji asked, knowing that whatever Tezuka wanted to say was something he was almost afraid of hearing.

"That's just it. I can't stop thinking about you."

Slowly, Fuji's eyes rose to meet Tezuka's and he felt... off balance. He felt like the world had rocked beneath his feet and not completely righted itself.

Then someone passed behind them and both boys flinched as though they'd been caught doing something they shouldn't. Fuji looked away, busying himself with wiping up a dot of wasabi from the table. He smiled just a little at the memory of Tezuka's blanch as he slathered his cheeseburger in the stuff...

"Tezuka..." 

Oops. Why had he opened his mouth? He was about to say something stupid, something... Why shouldn't he?

Gathering his courage, Fuji turned to face the other boy with his brightest smile. "Why don't we go out?"

"We are out," Tezuka replied, hesitating for only a moment.

Obtusely, Fuji felt more confident the less comfortable Tezuka looked. He leaned his elbow on the bench, supporting his chin in his hand. 

"Well, I suppose we could call this our first date, but it's hardly romantic, is it?"

The shock in Tezuka's eyes was worth the risk of rejection. It was so cute the way he looked around as if expecting a nearby adult to yell at them for even contemplating such a thing.

Then Tezuka regained his composure, showing a hint of the man he was bound to become—someone that Fuji thought he might like to spend his life with.

"Why don't we go to Yokohama on Saturday?" he suggested, perhaps a little stiffly but it was good enough for Fuji.

"I'll let my family know you'll be staying over," Fuji replied.

*

They didn't have sex right away. Tezuka was quite shy at first, and something made Fuji hesitate. So they spent time together; shopping, playing light games of tennis, even studying. Every moment they spent together brought them a little closer until Fuji thought he couldn't imagine doing his homework without Tezuka nearby.

At lunch times, they hung out together with Oishi and a couple of other first years from the tennis club. Eiji seemed content to have lunches in the classroom with their classmates, so Fuji let him be. At first, he was wary of Inui who seemed to pay far too much attention to Tezuka, but once he learned that it was purely a sporting interest, he was mollified.

Sometimes he wondered if Oishi had caught a glimpse of the relationship between them and maybe if the friendly, quiet boy might have been feeling a touch of jealousy. But Tezuka quite obviously saw Oishi as a friend and that was that. Fuji, however...

Fuji couldn't fail to notice just how much Tezuka liked him. Or was it love? Were they too young for that? No, he didn't think so... Not if his feelings for Tezuka were any indication—but those feelings scared him more than enough without having to worry about whether Tezuka felt the same need to be with him.

Tezuka slept over often, and occasionally Fuji would go to his boyfriend's house. It didn't take long for Fuji to convince Tezuka to cuddle up at night, and if one moaned in his sleep, or woke up rather flustered in the morning, then it happened to the other often enough.

One night, after they'd both finally finished their work on various assignments for the evening, Fuji stumbled to the bed with a yawn. He was pleased to see Tezuka waiting there for him with a cute smirk.

They'd kissed plenty, learning the feel of each others lips when they happened to have a private moment but this time it was different. This time as Fuji leaned over Tezuka and brushed his lips over his boyfriend's he felt like he never wanted the contact to end.

Briefly he considered the nature of the feeling and decided that it wasn't something sexual—there had already been enough of that kind of tension—but he knew better than to push Tezuka too far too fast. This, however, this ached in his chest, not in his shorts.

And when he pulled away, finally finding the resolve to break the kiss, he recognized the same need in Tezuka's eyes, the need to love and be loved, something that couldn't be found in family or friends—something that made Fuji want to run away just as much as he never wanted to leave Tezuka's side.

That was the first night they slept together. Tezuka was so gentle with Fuji that what pain there was was completely insignificant compared to the pleasure.

As they'd lain together, tangled limbs and ragged breaths, Fuji had felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. He was afraid, terrified, and he never managed to figure out exactly what scared him so much but he faced his fear. He stayed beside Tezuka and tightened his arms around the boy he loved and tried to ignore the fear.

*

It was his fault. Fuji knew that as surely as he'd known they would always be together—but this time he was right. He'd driven Tezuka away. His fear of being so close to another that he began to lose himself had destroyed their relationship, and almost destroyed Tezuka in the process.

Because Tezuka hadn't wanted to let go. Tezuka had loved him so deeply that even when Fuji screamed and threw things and broke down crying, the then vice captain had simply held him without a word and let him cry out his frustration. And it had torn at Fuji's heart.

He didn't know what was wrong with him, only that he couldn't handle the responsibilities of such a relationship. They were together for over a year, and every day, something in Fuji snapped a little further. So he'd thrown love as far away from him as possible, and crippled Tezuka in the process.

Tired and bitter, Fuji brought his finger to his lips and sucked away at the drying blood.

What rankled beneath his skin was that even when Tezuka and Atobe had dated, Fuji hadn't been concerned. He'd always expected that one day he and Tezuka would be together again. He was older, he was more mature, he could handle now what he hadn't been able to in the past. All Tezuka had to do was realize that.

Instead, Tezuka had found someone new, someone who could heal what Fuji had broken, who Tezuka could learn to love perhaps even more than he had Fuji.

So it was time to change. Holding onto the past wasn't going to get anyone anywhere, and maybe where Fuji was headed would only destroy what he wanted to save, but it was better than doing nothing.

It was time to show the world what tensai Fuji, Syusuke could do when he got serious.


	6. Crescendo

"It's like watching a completely different person," Eiji commented blandly, his eyes glued to the figure on the tennis courts.

Meanwhile, Inui sat beside him, furiously scribbling away precious details into his notebook. "Three steps back..." he muttered to himself, probably completely unaware that he had spoken out loud.

"At least someone's enjoying this," muttered Ryouma, his face planted heavily in his hand.

"Eh? How could you not enjoy this, O'chibi? Fujiko is wiping the floor with that stiff-assed Sanada!" Eiji cried, not bothering to keep his voice down, and thus recieving dark glares from spectators in the Rikkaidai portion of the stands.

"That isn't Fuji senpai," Ryouma complained, though he didn't explain himself any further and Fuji's next move thoroughly regained everyone's attention, causing them to abandon the conversation.

Tezuka, however, continued to dwell on Ryouma's statement. The boy was right. That wasn't Fuji.

Something had happened, or changed. The usually passive Fuji was playing extremely aggressively, drawing out all of his skill from the start and using it to thoroughly crush his opponent. It was something no one had ever seen before, and even Sanada couldn't resist the onslaught. He was being driven back further and further towards the boundary of defeat. And nobody could stop it.

A brief glance over at Rikkaidai's captain caused Tezuka to pause and consider Yukimura more thoroughly. Why was he smiling? Sanada was going to lose this match. His final match with Yukimura would determine his entrance into the training camp, and nobody expected him to win that match... Yukimura could have nothing to be happy about with Fuji beating Sanada so definitively...

As Fuji scored yet another dazzling point, Yukimura glanced over at Tezuka, his expression clouding into a mask that couldn't be read. He waved amiably enough and then returned his attention to the game. Tezuka didn't like it. Fuji acting out so drastically, Yukimura seeming so happy to see his vice captain lose... True, this wasn't a team event, but all of the teams stuck together. They had their pride. Even when they had to face each other, though it was a fierce competition, they held strongly to their ties. The same could be said of Rikkaidai, so why now...?

Something made Tezuka look over to a different portion of the stands. Oshitari was waiting for him to look, he signalled subtly to acknowledge that Tezuka had noticed him, and smiled. 

Almost instantly, the tension building within Tezuka was extinguished. He relaxed, nodded minutely in return, and brought his attention back to the game. It would all be over soon, and then he could ask Fuji himself.

*

"Well played," Tezuka extended quietly, alone with Fuji in the locker room.

"Aa," Fuji agreed.

The agreement was so typically uncharacteristic, that that little buzzing that had been tickling at Tezuka's subconscious throughout the match suddenly grew in volume.

Bent over his bag as he put away his sports shoes, Fuji suddenly spoke up. "Ne, Tezuka. We won't be crossing paths in this competition... So why don't we play, anyway?"

"Sorry?" Tezuka asked stupidly, caught off guard by the unexpected question.

"Why don't we settle once and for all which is the better player?" Fuji suggested, his voice suspiciously flat.

"Does it matter?" Tezuka asked, wishing that the answer could be 'no' though he knew that wasn't the case.

"Not really," Fuji replied surprisingly, hauling his bag over his shoulder as he whirled around and headed straight out the door before Tezuka could comment. 

There was something strange about Fuji's smile that made Tezuka feel highly uncomfortable. The buzzing fizzled, sparked, and died.

*

"That... was beautiful," murmured a voice to Fuji's left.

He glanced aside to see Yukimura fall into step with him as they walked away from the locker rooms.

Fuji smiled back at the Rikkaidai captain. "I do apologize for forcing you to take your own subordinate out of the competition like this," he said.

"Truly? Because I rather thought you'd enjoy the irony," Yukimura replied, an almost identical smile gracing his lips. "It's Sanada's own fault for losing, anyway."

"Aa. Quite right," Fuji agreed, expecting that to be the end of the exchange. However, Yukimura continued to walk in step with him. 

"Did you want something?" Fuji prompted.

The way Yukimura looked at him in response to that question sent a shiver of... something crawling down Fuji's spine.

'You' he heard loudly and clearly, though Yukimura said nothing at all.

"I merely thought to extend my congratulations," Yukimura replied after a pregnant pause in which Fuji felt he'd been stripped, violated, and left unsatisfied.

Then the captain was gone, leaving the tensai to stare after him with only a touch of confusion and a hell of a lot of... something else. 

*

"Worried?" Oshitari asked.

"Hmm?" Tezuka raised his eyebrows, prompting his new lover to elaborate.

"About Fuji," the Hyoutei tensai obliged.

Tezuka was quiet for a moment as he looked into Oshitari's eyes, then smiled and shook his head.

"You're right, I was thinking about Fuji," he admitted. "But no. I'm not worried. Somehow... I think I'm relieved. Whatever has changed in Fuji, for better or worse, he's finally set his tennis free from whatever cage he's been keeping it in all this time. I'd like to think that's a good thing."

Still, something wasn't right.

"Tezuka."

"Aa?"

"Come to Hyoutei."

"You know I can't," Tezuka replied with a slight, apologetic smile.

"It was worth a try," Oshitari replied.

They settled into a brief silence, looking out of the 7th floor window of the 109 building in Shibuya. The lights had just changed and a mass of people surged out onto the crosswalk, merging and weaving, passing each other to separate once more and leave an empty road for the following stream of cars to fill.

Suddenly, Tezuka's attention was retrieved as a sneaky hand withdrew from his vicinity clasping the meringue that had been sitting in his parfait, waiting to be eaten. And so it was, though not by Tezuka. All he could do was stare in surprise as Oshitari licked his lips and then his fingers, having devoured the tasty treat.

He simply smiled at the wounded look Tezuka shot at him. 

"If you want a taste you'll just have to kiss me," the tensai said quietly.

A blush springing to his cheeks, Tezuka glanced around the small cafe, but the various clumps of girls were sitting and chatting loudly, paying no attention to him aside from the occasional wistful glance in their direction. 'Later' Tezuka mouthed at his boyfriend before returning his attention to the half-eaten parfait before him. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could pack into the evening train with his lover in order to get somewhere private.

*

Atobe frowned at the chart Yukimura had handed him. It was a record of wins, losses, and matches to come. Unconsciously calling upon his insight as he perused the standings, Atobe was able to conclude the outcomes of most of the matches.

Yukimura.  
Tezuka.  
Echizen.  
Atobe.  
Fuji.  
Jirou.  
Akutsu.  
Shishido.  
Niou.  
Kirihara.

Through the luck of the draw, those ten would make the kantou region's contribution to the end of year training camp. Add an additional five from Kansai, two each from Shikkoku and Kyuushu, and one from Hokkaido. Twenty players. Almost two months of intense training.

Three from Rikkaidai, including their captain. Three from Hyoutei, captain included. Three from Seigaku, Tezuka included. Yamabuki’s Ace. Doubtlessly others they had clashed with in the Nationals such as Shitenhouji's Shiraishi and Chitose would be present.

It was going to be an interesting winter. And yet, what Atobe couldn't help thinking about was what would come after.

"Everything is going to change," Yukimura muttered, his hands sliding over Atobe's shoulders and beginning a light massage. "Seigaku, Rikkaidai, Hyoutei, maybe others, too, but there are going to be Earth shaking changes."

"Aa? And where do you fit into those changes?" Atobe asked casually, though he was truly curious as to what Yukimura planned to do with himself.

He couldn't resist a slight shiver as Yukimura's lips descended to his ear, blowing a soft puff of breath over it.

"I suppose I could stand to call you captain," he whispered. "But don't think too much of it," he added.

Atobe took the shock of that revelation rather well, he thought. The curling of his toes was the only outward sign of his surprise, and not even Yukimura would notice that.

So Yukimura planned to abandon his devoted Rikkaidai to become vice captain at Hyoutei?

But that wasn't all. For Yukimura to consider such a move meant that there were many, many other shifts in the works. No wonder he was already cutting ties with Sanada. If he'd really wanted, he could give Sanada the win to become the 11th member of the Kantou region which took preference over other areas. But he wouldn't. He'd leave his vice captain behind. Atobe could see that already.

"That aside, how badly should I crush your poor tensai tomorrow?" Yukimura asked suddenly, his hands sliding down over Atobe's bare chest, caressing his perfect muscles.

"Do what you like," Atobe answered.

He didn't underestimate Oshitari. The tensai would fight back, but there was no doubt that Yukimura would win. Whether it was a crushing defeat or a close game, Atobe didn't quite care. Oshitari would be separated from Tezuka for two months, because Atobe could see that Fuji would not be losing his final match to Hyoutei's tensai. As much as Hyoutei's pride was important, Atobe couldn't quite seem to be disappointed by the approaching outcome.


	7. Adagio

He didn’t make the choice until the very last minute but he kept the option open, playing a game of checks and balances as he felt out the unknown depths of his opponent. Throwing the game was an idea he had toyed with—well, not so much toyed with as simply conceived of—that was made plausible by a surprisingly aggressive and masterful performance on the part of the underrated tensai. Even so, Yukimura’s decision to let the battle end in an “unfortunate” technicality had little to do with his opponent and a great deal to do with the entertainment he anticipated when all of the crucial players were convened by the end of this tournament.

The current Fuji would not lose. In order for Oshitari to join the ranks of players involved in the training camp—where Yukimura very much wanted him—he would have to win this match. Still, the Rikkai captain hadn’t actually believed himself willing to take the hit until the moment he glanced up into the stands and saw Atobe’s clenched jaw and vicious gaze. He didn’t like it at all that Yukimura hadn’t crushed Oshitari from the start. Perhaps he’d thought having both his senses and his confidence torn from him would be a fitting punishment for the tensai for laying his unworthy paws on Tezuka…

So Yukimura’s whim won out, along with Hyoutei’s determined tensai.

Atobe had never seen it coming. Obviously he had expected Yukimura to finish things decisively at the last minute, ultimately crushing Oshitari’s spirit in the end.

The Hyoutei captain had, of course, reached his own conclusions as to how the rankings would play out—he just hadn’t counted on Yukimura’s confidence extending beyond the need to win. He was going to be impossible to deal with for a few days, at least.

*

Oshitari grit his teeth through Atobe’s overly ironic congratulations and the praise that was full of meaningful pauses and sarcastic nuances. He found it somewhat more difficult to bear with Gakuto’s shrugged, “Maybe Yukimura just had a bad day and you beat him fair and square. Either way, you won.” What he didn’t expect was more of the same from Tezuka.

An awkward silence resounded throughout Oshitari’s bedroom as he stared up at the ceiling and its faint blue paint that currently reminded him uncomfortably of which school he belonged to—and Tezuka didn’t. That wasn’t the problem here, though. The problem was-

“Yuushi? Can you hear me? I was just saying you played exceptionally well today… Yukimura should have recognized the threat much sooner.” Again, Tezuka’s voice paused for an extended period. “Yuushi?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the signal,” Oshitari sighed. “I just thought you, at least, would be straight with me.”

“You really did play well.”

“Well enough to beat a demigod? Or you? Or even Atobe? We both know that’s not true,” Oshitari grumbled, rolling onto his side with the phone half balanced on his ear and half suspended by a tired limb.

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have been able to beat Yukimura, but what’s important is that you did. I was expecting your match with Fuji to be the decider, but-”

Oshitari growled. “What’s important is that Yukimura threw the match. Just say it. That’s what happened.”

Tezuka was quiet again for a while. “Yuushi… What’s bothering you?”

“Aside from the fact that that purple-haired pansy is obviously plotting something—which should be just as disturbing to you as it is to me—I’ve been subtly ridiculed by Atobe and lied to by the rest of my team and I expected you to honestly voice your skepticism instead of trying to make me feel better, or whatever it is you think you’re doing,” Oshitari ranted. Was it fair? He thought so.

Tezuka hung up.

*

Taking a deep breath, Tezuka rehearsed the words in his head in just the right tone of voice, and imaged a slew of possible responses even as he initiated the call.

“Hello? Yuushi? It’s Kunimitsu. Forgive me for not calling sooner,” he said, in a perfect parody of his earlier greeting. “Congratulations on your win today, and on qualifying. I’m sorry it wasn’t the fair win you hoped for.”

The silence on the other end of the line wasn’t total. A slow release of breath drew a picture in Tezuka’s mind of a slowly emerging smile. He knew he’d done the right thing, even before his boyfriend confirmed it with his words.

“Thank you,” said Oshitari. “And sorry.”

“I was proud of how you played,” Tezuka told him, accepting the apology but wanting to make sure he was understood. “I wanted you to feel that instead of focusing on Yukimura’s deception… I’m still learning.”

“You should have just told me how sexy I looked,” Oshitari drawled.

Tezuka felt a grin creep across his lips despite how seriously he had been speaking only a moment ago. He might still be learning, but that tone had been one of his first lessons. He now memorized that it also meant: “All is forgiven.”

“If I went out of my way to tell you every time you looked sexy, I’d sound like a broken record,” Tezuka teased.

“Oh I won’t mind,” replied his boyfriend. “We can harmonize together as I tell you how delicious you are again, and again, and again.”

“Stop that,” Tezuka warned.

“Or what?”

Good question. “Or I’ll wear you out before your match with Fuji.”

Oshitari laughed. It was a deep, throaty chuckle that resonated well through the receiver. “Some might call that sabotage,” he pointed out.

“You’ll only have yourself to blame,” Tezuka responded. He was already reacting to the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. The relationship was new enough that he hadn’t yet grown accustomed to that sound, especially not when his libido was under deliberate attack.

“I’ll change the subject then,” Oshitari said promptly, and primly. “Are you free on Monday night?”

“What do you have in mind?” Tezuka asked, surprised by the sudden turn.

“Yukimura’s objectives aside, we’ve both gained a place at the junior training camp. I thought we could celebrate with a little break from tennis.”

“You’re not going to tell me what you have planned, are you?”

“No.”

“Fine. Then I will look forward to it. In the meantime, I’m going to hang up for real now. You still have Fuji to face and I have my own match tomorrow. There’s no excuse for letting our guards down just because we made the cut,” Tezuka lectured.

“No phone sex?”

“Goodnight, Yuushi.”

“Sweet dreams, Kunimitsu…”

The line went dead with those last, sultry words, leaving Tezuka to strangle on the desire that flared in their wake.

*

Atobe had refused to provide any answer to the text message he had received, or pick up the phone when Yukimura’s ring-tone chimed out its ominous melody. He also ignored the generic ringtone that signaled a call from an unregistered number—no doubt from the phone of one of Rikkaidai’s plebs… with Yukimura on the other end. Two blatant attempts, one attempted blindside. No more. That was the where Yukimura’s pride hit its limit.

He’d really caught Atobe unawares with his little ploy but two could play at that game. Limousines were more direct than trains and with good traffic, he made good time to Yukimura’s house. He was waiting with the door open and a champagne glass of sparkling cider in hand when his lover sauntered up the street.

He waited patiently for the wide eyes to narrow first in suspicion, then in feigned contempt, and for Yukimura to close the distance between himself and the overly conspicuous vehicle. When he was close enough, Atobe raised the cider bottle in invitation.

As if he hadn’t contemplated any alternate plans for his evening, Yukimura slipped into the seat opposite Atobe and pulled the door closed, placing his bag on the floor of the limousine. He accepted the glass Atobe poured, and commented on the rich taste, without wasting a single word for the absurdity of having been beaten to his own home while his own attempts at contact had been dashed.

Once Atobe decided they had played the game of nonchalance through to a suitable point, he cut to the chase. “You threw the match.”

“Obviously,” Yukimura agreed. “I don’t lose naturally.”

Atobe snorted. “Not to someone like Oshitari, anyway.”

“Now you’re just being snide,” Yukimura scolded him. “He’s a perfectly capable player. If you’d actually bother to train your team instead of pitting them against each other like animals, he might be in a whole other class by now.”

“He still wouldn’t be capable of beating you—so let’s get to the point, shall we?” Atobe folded his arms across his chest and pinned Yukimura with his best business brows. “Why?”

“You’re jealous,” Yukimura pointed out. “This budding springtime lovey-dovey bullshit starting to show between him and Tezuka rankles you like nothing else I’ve ever seen.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Atobe drawled, almost patiently. “Why did you go so far out of your way to lose?”

Yukimura drained his glass before answering. “He would have lost to me—and then you expect he would lose to Fuji as well, and he and Tezuka would have been separated for the duration of the camp. You’ve been anticipating it almost gleefully.”

Atobe smiled through clenched teeth, beyond annoyed that Yukimura read him so easily. “And?”

Especially when he was apparently so deeply in the dark where his lover was concerned.

“I hate it,” Yukimura responded, with such a glower that it incited a shiver of understanding through him even as the finely spun champagne glass that had been the victim of a casual glance from Yukimura shattered beside his head and rained glittering shards onto his shoulder and the leather seat. Yukimura was on him a moment later and he could only gaze up in bewildered confusion and wait to hear the words that seemed so impossible. “You’re jealous, and that makes me jealous, so I won’t let you satisfy yourself with their misery. If enduring them makes you miserable, so be it.”

“You’re jealous,” Atobe repeated, hearing how dumb he sounded and unable to find the will to care.

“Shut up and make it worth my while,” Yukimura snapped.

Not that he was through with Oshitari—and Tezuka—but Atobe was nothing if not abundant with worth, so he was more than happy to make it worth Yukimura’s while, all the way back to Tokyo and for most of the night, too.


	8. Staccato

To those who were aware of Yukimura’s deceit, it was little surprise that Fuji was able to beat Oshitari. The crushing nature of the defeat came as a shock to most, though. It was highly unusual for Fuji to perform as he did in that match—actively seeking to destroy his opponent through ruthless offense and an impassable defense. There were some in the know who began speculating about what that defeat would mean for a match between Seigaku’s tensai and the captain of Rikkaidai, who had not come up against each other in this tournament. Some of those figured they might get the chance to see that showdown at the camp for which they had secured a ticket, while others lamented all they would miss during that time and vowed to train even harder.

Tezuka had other concerns. As Fuji walked over to him with a fixed but expectant expression, he steeled himself to say words that were oddly difficult for him on this occasion.

“Well done, Fuji. You played without flaw,” he praised in a level voice. Inside, he was trembling with the desire to comfort his boyfriend.

“It was nothing,” said Fuji lightly. “Honestly, I expected a much more skilled resistance. I feel sorry for… whoever… has to pick up the pieces.”

With that, the tensai collected his congratulations from the rest of the team, who had all turned out to watch this last Seigaku battle, and then took his leave. As Fuji sauntered away to the locker rooms, Tezuka’s gaze traveled to where Hyoutei were gathered. Atobe was staring back at him with a blank expression that could have meant almost anything but it struck Tezuka as simultaneously accusatory and smug.

Oshitari, meanwhile, looked shattered. There really were going to be a lot of pieces to recover after that painful battering, but Tezuka was glad he could be there to do so. He knew now that he would be expected to be candid about the outcome. Unlike the misleading match with Yukimura, Tezuka could analyze this one together with Oshitari to uncover what he was lacking and they could work together to improve those areas. Actually, thinking about spending time focusing at once on two of his favorite things at present—Oshitari and tennis—Tezuka felt guiltily excited.

Briefly, he wondered what Oshitari had in store for him for their coming date. Was it an activity that would help spread some balm on the fresh wounds to his boyfriend’s pride? Tezuka was looking forward to it, whatever it was.

*

Shortly after he entered the locker room and began to strip, Fuji heard someone else come in and he glanced over his shoulder. At first, he felt a flush of heat and curiosity that Tezuka had opted to follow him after their veiled conversation, and the unmerciful victory over his ex’s current lover—but then he did a double take. It wasn’t Tezuka at all. 

Niou of Rikkaidai stood in the doorway in a stance that was awfully familiar to Fuji but that he could no longer place. The familiarity slipped even further away as the other player continued into the room with his sports bag slung artfully over his shoulder and a lazy gait that was all his own.

However, as the trickster passed Fuji on his way to the locker that had his name patched to the front of it, that familiar presence intensified once more and Fuji could swear he sensed and even smelled Tezuka. The feeling only lasted a moment, though, and then he was distracted by the entrance of another.

Yukimura, too, stopped after passing through the door. He leaned against the wall, folding his arms and focusing entirely on Fuji to the exclusion of his own subordinate. “Niou,” he said, without even blinking to break his view of Fuji. “Don’t waste time out there. Get it over with quickly—take a page from Fuji-here’s book.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Niou agreed casually. He busied himself right away with preparations for the coming match, even as Yukimura was already making his move.

Behind Niou’s pointedly averted back, he reached around a now shirtless Fuji and grabbed the back of his neck, dragging him behind a row of lockers and slamming him up against them, heedless of the noise. His wordless assault was so swift and targeted that Fuji had no chance to even consider whether he wanted to resist or not.

Before he knew what was happening, Yukimura was sucking erotically on his tongue and stroking him to a sudden and vicious erection while inducing shots of desire through slow rolling and pinching of his right nipple. The pleasure came on so fast and hard that he felt dizzy, and exhaustion from the match began to alternate with the euphoria of impending climax.

With very little thought for Niou, or anyone else who might have come in or been in the showers to begin with, Fuji was driven to pant and moan without any control. His hips jerked and spasmed, slamming repeatedly and noisily against the lockers as his body responded before his brain could catch up and assert order. He scrabbled faintly at the lockers behind him and at Yukimura when he realized which was softer and easier to grab, but otherwise, he gave himself over completely to the sudden onset of ecstasy.

After he came, he slumped wordlessly, and panted into Yukimura’s shoulder, trying to clear the fog from his mind. “Atobe…” he breathed weakly, even as he dismissed the thought. More important to him was what Tezuka would think—or what exactly Yukimura meant by this. Atobe was someone else's problem.

“What’s a congratulatory ‘petting’ between rivals, hmmm?” Yukimura crooned into his ear.

Fuji shuddered with a belated thrill of pleasure as the warmth and softness of Yukimura’s tongue swiped his cheek bone. The captain’s lips pursed against his skin, just under his eye. 

“You deserved it…” he whispered before parting from Fuji. “More, really, but all in good time,” he threw over his shoulder as he walked away.

Having been completely blindsided and overwhelmed, Fuji felt the trembling begin in his thighs as he was left to his own devices and flattened himself against the lockers to quell the tremors that crept throughout his body. Yukimura was good. Really, really good. A kiss and a hand job. Nothing more. Yet somehow bliss.

Yukimura was dangerous. 

*

Holding his breath and then hissing it out slowly, Niou’s abs and thighs strained rigidly as he leaned against his locker, bent over a raging erection that he was trying to take care of as silently as possible. It was probably pointless with Yukimura evincing such a racket from Fuji, but one couldn’t be too careful where Yukimura was concerned. He was possessive.

Niou licked his lips to moisten them and drew a slow, silent breath as he doubled the speed of the hand working furiously inside his shorts. He didn’t have long. By the sounds of it, Yukimura would be done soon, and he would expect to find Niou gone by the time he emerged. For that matter, his match would be starting very soon. He’d already been cutting it close with his arrival.

The advent of Fuji’s orgasm was obvious and the repercussions of that delicious bestial groan brought Niou to completion moments later. He shuddered and his teeth cut into his lip as he bit down his own pleasure.

His abs hurt as he let them relax and worked to regain his breath without a telltale whoosh or a grunt. Still twitching a little, he hastened to the exit, knowing Yukimura would be right behind him and loathe to be caught. He’d rather play his match with the damning evidence of his transgression squishing in his shorts than have to explain himself—or worse, not be urged to explain anything. Those kinds of silent communiques were the most perilous.

*

Consolation sex was actually pretty amazing. Oshitari figured his loss put him firmly on the bottom for this round but he was surprisingly ok with that. Tezuka was gentle but thorough; passionate yet firm. He felt as though all of the bitterness that had gathered in his belly were drawn out through the contractions and stretches worked into his muscles while the warm breath on his skin thawed the cold shell that usually formed when he lost. Tezuka was good medicine for him.

Their hands were entwined as Tezuka balanced over him, pumping steadily but with a yielding tension that inched the tensai closer and closer to what he expected would be a gut-wrenching climax. For all that his vision was perfect—despite the glasses he wore as permanent accessories—his eyes blurred with sweat and adrenaline and he could hardly make out the face that gazed at him with equal parts intensity and heartwarming emotion.

They’d talked, and talked, and talked about strategy, improvements, and circumstance, and now Tezuka was doggedly undoing all of the tension that had begun to turn to poison in his veins. It was the first time Oshitari had ever felt grateful for having his body submitted to the complete control of another. He let go, and rode the crest and fall of pleasure until he tumbled over the edge and took Tezuka with him.

When he finally came up for air, he realized his cheeks were damp with more than sweat, and quickly turned his face in to one shoulder and then the other to smear the embarrassing tears before Tezuka noticed.

“Yuushi.”

The sigh was oddly restrained, and Oshitari finally came to realize that Tezuka had yet to find release. His eyes were closed and his body was held taught and suspended, and the length inside of Oshitari still filled him gloriously.

“Tomorrow,” Oshitari said, as he pushed up from under Tezuka, “I’m taking you to a concert.”

He curled his knee up as Tezuka’s erection slipped grudgingly from his body, and gently pushed it against the hard length. Tezuka was easily guided to hinge backwards until he was on his back at the opposite end of the bed, gazing up at Oshitari with slightly unfocused eyes.

“Every year, my uncle gives me tickets he buys from his company for a charity concert featuring one of the world’s finest orchestras.”

Slowly, he began to stroke the slickened length that jutted up between Tezuka’s rocky thighs. He twisted at the base and tip for increased friction and continued talking in a low, breathy voice that he’d noticed had a direct effect on the dilation of Tezuka’s pupils.

“When you see the trombones expand and retract, or the flutists purse their lips, or the strings drawn so tightly you think they might snap, I want you to think of what I’m doing to you right now,” he said, and then dove down Tezuka’s body to devour his erection along with the seed that spurted free accompanied by a hearty groan.

Between this, and the memories of their first time, it was going to be an interesting concert. The problem was that Oshitari was going to be just as hard pressed as Tezuka to fight down lust until they could expend their frustrations upon one another in private once again.


	9. Counter-melody

“You know, we could still take my father’s jet and just have a nice, quiet week in Vienna. It would be a wonderful vacation before we spend the summer embroiled in drama—and some training, I suppose,” grumbled Atobe. “I don’t see why you should settle for seeing whatever second-rate orchestra is desperate enough to come all the way to Japan to find work.”

“Don’t be absurd. We’re students. We can’t just take off for a week-ah! Hush. Don’t contradict me. We are also both captains and have a duty to prepare those of our teams who will be working hard in our absence. Furthermore, it’s for charity. Think of what good your money is doing for some unfortunate homeless children-ah! I’m not finished. Whether the ticket money was turned into aid or turned into a frog matters little—this is no consolation prize, Keigo. As you well know, they are a world-class orchestra with some of the most notable names in woodwind and strings, as well as a great many other talented musicians. Don’t mock my interests for the sake of sheer snobbery.”

By the time Yukimura was done ranting, Atobe was bored. “Are you done?” he asked drolly.

“I’m done,” said Yukimura with great dignity.

“After you then,” Atobe responded, with a gentlemanly wave of the arm as he ushered his lover through the door leading to the hall. 

They had second floor seats, right at the balcony—the best in the house. They were so good, in fact, that Atobe had only to glance down once to spot a familiar pair towards the center and only four rows from the stage. It wasn’t the pair he expected, though. The elder Fuji brother was fussing over the younger, encouraging him to drink water and pointing out details in the program.

As interesting as that was, Atobe began searching for the other pair he expected to see. He knew for a fact that Oshitari attended this concert every year. Finally, he spotted the couple at the edge of the hall, almost under the balcony. 

Looking down at them, he had to admit they made a handsome pair. That rather annoyed him.

As a result, Atobe unexpectedly found his attention straying back to Fuji. Despite their dissention over Tezuka in the past, he had to admit that the Seigaku tensai had played spectacularly. Bringing Oshitari to his knees was not a feat to be underestimated—Atobe knew that better than anyone. If there was any player on his team that he was wary of, it was the poker-faced strategist. 

The weasel’s dominion over Tezuka was just another example of his capacity for subtle treachery. The very fact that he had gone after Tezuka in the first place was a direct affront to Atobe but to see them so… comfortable together…

Nothing had given Atobe greater satisfaction than watching Fuji slam Oshitari into his place without a shadow of a doubt. He really ought to extend his gratitude for that particular show.

“He makes the most primal sounds, too” murmured Yukimura, leaning forward beside Atobe to observe the tensai as well.

Atobe went cold for a second and then flushed hot. It shouldn’t surprise him; it really shouldn’t.

“What have you done now?” he asked, lowering his voice to a minimum as the applause died down after the conductor’s entrance and the first piece of the program was announced.

Yukimura’s response was drowned out by the initial barrage of sound but then those deadly sweet lips pressed right up against his ear and Yukimura murmured the whole story to him in lewd detail. If Atobe got hard, listening to the sordid record of his lover’s exploits, at least he wasn’t alone in his inappropriate enjoyment of the—admittedly—elegant evening. 

Bold and beautiful music in one ear, Yukimura in the other, his eyes slid back to his ex and his subordinate. It was dark but not pitch dark, and Atobe had rather keen eyesight. Perhaps he was the only one looking, and he was gifted with a birds-eye-view, at that, but the placement of their hands—right there in public—was absolutely obscene. 

*

Feeling the call of nature during a rousing section about halfway through the program, Fuji twitched to rise, then hesitated. He glanced at Yuuta.  
Adorable.

In the semi-dark, a unique smile crept over his face as he surveyed his brother. Yuuta was still maintaining a posture that spoke of boredom and reluctance but he eyes were wide with awe.

People usually assumed Fuji was the type to like things like classical music, but while he had heard this tune before, he certainly couldn’t name it, or even the composer. He would bet that Yuuta could name and give fascinating details about both.

Sorry to disturb his brother, he leaned in and whispered a quick explanation before he ducked off through the crowd. He went to the right as it was shorter, and smiled at anyone who dared glare at him for disturbing their experience.

Near the door, he almost stopped and stared, for he had noticed a sheen reflect off familiar round glass paired with another intimately familiar pair of oval spectacles. Looking closer, his eyes adjusted a little more to the dark and he could make out the twin expressions they wore—barely contained rapture. 

A quick glance down into their laps revealed that it wasn’t the music that had them open-mouthed and glassy-eyed. They were subtly stroking and squeezing each other right there in the open. Apparently their silent, careful conduct had allowed that fact to go unnoticed by the old man swaying mildly beside Tezuka with his eyes closed and his fingers dancing to the merry tune.

Slipping out of the hall, Fuji breathed a sigh for the missed opportunity to draw attention to them and ruin their night. He had come here to spend time with Yuuta. That was what was important. Thus, he hurried to the bathroom so he could return to Yuuta’s side sooner.

Fuji had flicked open the button of his trousers and had his thumb on the zip when he was grabbed from behind. He shut down the instinct to struggle, knowing he would make a more effective escape once he had a better handle of the situation and had earned the element of surprise. 

He was tempted to rethink the urge to struggle when a familiar voice murmured to him. "Hasn't anyone warned you I have a jealous streak?"

What the hell did Atobe want with him?

Atobe being Atobe, he should have guessed.

"Don't you think this is a bit public?" he asked lightly, even as a strong, firm palm made the acquaintance of his crotch.

First Yukimura ravaged him in the locker room and now Atobe was ambushing him in the bathroom. Whatever had he done to attract such bountiful blessings?

Sarcasm aside, he was actually getting hard. Perhaps it was the exhibitionism he had just witnessed, or the recent tactile memory of his encounter with Yukimura; his first since he had last been with Tezuka. 

If he'd thought eliminating the hard-to-get vibe would put Atobe off, he needed to rethink his strategy. The diva guided him almost gently into one of the wooden-doored toilet stalls and pressed him against the cool marble wall, grinding his own hard-on against Fuji's ass as he slipped his hand into the slightly loose trousers the tensai rarely wore. "I must admit, I've never fucked anyone in a toilet before but this is quite respectable as bathrooms go."

The words finally awoke a hint of panic in the tensai. Not that. Not here. Not now. In spite of an unfair reputation, his heart—and body—were loyal, and rather picky. Yet now, with Tezuka blissfully occupied with Oshitari and even Atobe moving on with Yukimura, Fuji was ready to be undone. 

All at once he was smothered and then freed with the kind of tingling shudder that came with the breaking of a fever. How long had he felt this lonely? Had he ever truly believed in the break-up? 

Thinking that perhaps Atobe had suffered similar heartbreak in the wake of his relationship with Tezuka, Fuji covered the hand massaging the lump in his pants from the outside and began to guide it, gasping a little breath of surrender.

"You are surprisingly obeisant," Atobe noted, continuing his ministrations without reservation. "Aren't you going to at least pretend to struggle? Beg me to stop?"

On the contrary, Fuji relaxed his body back against his assailant and rested his neck back into a pleasingly muscled shoulder. It was a fair question, but for Fuji it translated: just how far was he willing to go with this?

"Why would I do that?" he asked. "Just because I loathe you doesn't mean I can't enjoy your touch."

Atobe's breath tickled Fuji's ear a moment before his lips whispered against the top of Fuji's cheek. "If I were any less glorious, I'd wonder just how desperate you are to submit so readily to someone you 'loathe.'"

"Who said anything about submitting?" Fuji growled. He whirled, and smoothly pinned Atobe to the stall door. "Seeing as you are so un-accustomed to the uncouth customs of toilet sex, let me show you how it's done."

With unerring precision, he rammed his body flush to Atobe's, lining up their trapped bulges. Easily swinging a leg up over Atobe's hip, he succeeded in locking them together, and then proceeded to grind them both to a raw and violent release.

When it was over, he briefly toyed with the concept of a kiss, but instead, he wallowed in the unconnected proximity of their lips as their panting breath mingled. His searching fingers found the bar that locked the door and he levered it up, spilling them out of the cramped stall. He kept walking without hesitation, straight to the urinal, where he gratefully pursued another kind of release.

Atobe simply watched him, limp against the divide between stalls, and Fuji threw him a smile as he ran his hands under the tap and then walked out without another word shared between them.

*

Atobe stared at the closed door and processed. All things considered, he could see what Tezuka—and now Yukimura—saw in Fuji. 

Boredom had possessed him to stalk the tensai into the bathroom, having witnessed his flight from the hall—and having noted the momentary pause as he laid eyes on the indecent conduct Atobe could just make out down near the wall. Meanwhile, competition had driven him to claim as much as his current faithless lover had done. Now, respect firmed his resolve to bring Fuji into the bed he shared with Yukimura.

When the bathroom door opened and another patron rushed through, Atobe wrinkled his nose in distaste and pivoted back into the stall where he proceeded to clean himself up. If nothing else, Fuji owed him for the silk underwear that was now ruined.

As he returned to his seat, freshly blinded by the dark, he found himself wondering if Fuji's implied familiarity with bathrooms dated back to his relationship with Tezuka. He was surprisingly unaffected by the thought of his strapping, serious ex bending the sensual tensai over for a tense quickie in the school bathroom.

By the time his eyes adjusted and he habitually glanced down to where Tezuka and Oshitari sat, they were gone. There was only one performance to go. Had they so little patience? 

Apparently they weren’t alone. Grasping Atobe’s hand in both of his own, Yukimura held it innocently in his lap, simply allowing his lover to become aware of the hardness there, proving he had an inkling as to what had just happened. Perversely, Atobe couldn’t wait to tell him all about it.


	10. Retrograde

Fuji barely held it together after the concert ended and he had to face Yuuta. He was grateful that his little brother was the one to suggest getting ice cream at a nearby cafe. He was also tense with the effort of concealing his spiraling emotions.  
   
There was something about orchestral music that really stirred the soul. It had a way of dredging up all kinds of feelings that usually stayed submerged. After his encounter with Atobe and the shock of realizing Tezuka was truly part of his history, Fuji found himself embroiled in a whirlpool of jealousy, regret, and self-loathing that threatened to pull him under at any moment.  
   
He was withdrawn over ice-cream and Yuuta noticed. He got angry, as he always did at every little thing, and that only pulled Fuji deeper. He grew even quieter, because if he spoke, he would cry. It wasn't long before he sat alone before a melting sludge of a sundae--abandoned and forsaken.  
   
That was when the tears slipped past his guard. He remained very still and very quiet so that no attention would be drawn to the boy with two big, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Four. Six. Ten...  
   
He knew. He knew all along who it was—and who it wasn't—when Tezuka sat silently across from him, watching and waiting. It only made him cry harder and he rested his chin in his palm, shielding his face from the cafe's occupants as if cupping his cheek and biting his lip to keep any hint of a whimper from escaping. His stomach folded and cramped as he fought to control the urge to double over and sob out loud.  
   
Tezuka was gone. Tezuka belonged to someone else. For real. There was no denying it anymore.  
   
Worse, Fuji couldn't go on without him. He'd forgotten how to feel about anyone else, except for maybe Yuuta. If it wasn't Tezuka, he just didn't care. Yukimura, Atobe... he let them seduce him, let them have what they wanted, and gave them a little extra on the side without any sense of shame or stirring of emotional interest. Without Tezuka, he was dead inside.  
   
He covered his mouth and took a small, forced gasp because his throat was closed so tightly he could no longer breathe passively through his nose. His eyes flickered up, and no matter how hard he tried, he could see only Tezuka sitting before him despite the obvious truth. He shook his head, bit his lip harder, and then his chin dipped of its own volition.  
   
The next thing he knew, Tezuka was seated beside him in the booth, holding him and shielding him from view, and he fell into the illusion and sobbed silently into a strong, supporting embrace, his face tucked into Tezuka's chest. He cried himself out, grateful for the concealment even though he loathed its source.  
   
"Why?" his whispered, when the torrent finally subsided. "Why are you here?"  
   
"You looked like you needed a friend."  
   
"You're not my friend."  
   
"I could be."  
   
"Not... Not like this."  
   
"Who then? I can be anyone you want. Just give me a name. Yukimura?"  
   
"No! And he'd kill you!"  
   
"I'd risk it."  
   
"Just be yourself."  
   
"Ok," said Niou, loosening his hold on Fuji just a little.  
   
Fuji nodded, his gaze lowered. He’s asked for the truth but he was too embarrassed to acknowledge it. Knowing it wasn't Tezuka into whose arms he had cried and facing that reality were two different things.  
   
"Why?" he asked again.  
   
Niou gently tipped up his chin and met his tired, vulnerable gaze with a small, kind smile.  
   
"I think it's obvious," he said.  
   
"I don't... I can't-"  
   
"I know. It's ok. You don't have to. That's why..."  
   
"Don't say it," Fuji begged. "Don't tempt me."  
   
"The offer is always open," Niou promised quietly, his expression uncommonly serious.  
   
Fuji wavered. It would be so easy to pretend. Then it never had to end.  
   
"What if I asked you to be someone else?" he breathed, thinking of his body's natural reaction to another handsome captain. He needed to feel a sense of control for a while, and control over that boy would surely be satisfying one way or another.  
   
"Ore-sama should have known," drawled a rich, confident voice.  
   
Fuji smiled slowly up at Atobe and tilted his head. "You know, you really are very good."  
   
"My dear tensai, you haven't seen anything yet."  
   
If Fuji had any qualms about Atobe kissing him right there in public, they were as absent as his qualms about everything else that had happened with Atobe, and with Yukimura for that matter. His body was present, though, and he responded gladly to the kiss, for knowing that it wasn't truly Atobe took away the pressure of the power struggle--at least, until he was ready to play with that enticing element of this experiment.  
   
Even less of an issue was the concept of using Niou like some kind of 4D fantasy generator. He was clearly into it, for one thing...  
   
*  
   
"Masaharu."  
   
Despite his intent to be brave, Niou shivered.   
   
"Captain?" he asked, turning around slowly. As he did, he realized the rest of the team had made themselves scarce at the sound of that cold, vicious summons.  
   
Yukimura nodded in a beckoning manner and he found his feet obeying regardless of what his common sense told him was the wise course. Running far, far away, that was.  
   
"I heard the most fascinating rumor."  
   
Niou smiled, feeling like wood inside but confident of his natural presentation. "Oh? Do tell!"  
   
Yukimura smiled, tilting his head to one side and observing his prey with calm interest. "Apparently, my boyfriend was seen making out with Fuji Syusuke in public last night."  
   
"Oh my. That's awful."  
   
"Not so much awful, as puzzling."  
   
"Oh? Why so?"  
   
"Because Atobe was with me last night and I have the ache in my ass to prove it wasn't a dream."  
   
"Rumors... So unreliable, you know?"  
   
"I _know_  I staked my claim on Fuji rather clearly."  
   
"Maybe," Niou braved, licking his dry lips with an equally dry tongue. "But you're not what he needs."  
   
"And Atobe is?" hissed Yukimura.  
   
"No," Niou stated firmly. "I am." He wheezed as Yukimura's fingers curled around his throat but he held his ground, raising his chin and opening up his defenses in challenge to his captain to go ahead and do whatever he wanted. "I'm in pain," he spoke as Fuji. "I'm trying to find out who I am now and the only one who can help me understand that... is Niou."  
   
Yukimura's eyes narrowed. It seemed like fury for a moment but then, as his lips closed in, it registered belatedly as lust. Nious tried to gasp before thin lips sealed his own and Yukimura's tongue delved into his mouth, but he could barely breath and his throat was beginning to hurt. He knew his captain well enough to know not to struggle or fight. Instead, he responded lightly, letting his tongue flick weakly in reaction to the caresses that goaded it. That was how Fuji kissed when he wasn't on the offensive. That was what Yukimura wanted.  
   
Then again, he was afraid to give Yukimura everything he wanted--the kinds of desires one would usually refrain from because conscience or common sense got in the way. If he gave too much ground, Yukimura might just forget such pesky interferences as morals and ethics, and that could be very, very dangerous both for Niou and for the tensai he embodied, whose vulnerability had been very clear to the trickster the previous night...  
   
*  
   
It was unbelievably adorable, the way Fuji growled and pounced on Niou-as-Atobe like some kind of pent-up tiger cub. All it had taken was a few goading remarks about Tezuka and one good chuckle.  
   
None of that would have been Niou's personal instinct. He could never quite fathom how some minds worked, and Atobe was one of those mysteries. What could possibly make a man think he could laud himself, crush others under his heels, and expect to be beloved for it all?  
   
Yet, he was. That was the biggest mystery of all. True, he had his enemies. Even some of his own team loathed him... but they followed him religiously anyway. Out of loyalty. Out of respect. And yes—some, out of love.  
   
Others loved him, too. Any idiot could see that Echizen Ryouma's pointed barbs and sneering distaste were all a front for the kind of desire he was too immature to admit to. Niou still wasn't sure whether Sanada was jealous over Yukimura, Atobe, or both, ever since the two captains had fallen into bed together—and he certainly wished his vice captain would stop turning those sour grapes on the team. Then there were guys like that Mizuki of St. Rudolf, who made eyes at Atobe and seemed to go into a creepy trance of deluded fantasy while twirling sprigs of hair ever more slowly until the brain ground to a halt all together and his eyes glazed over...  
   
The point was, Atobe got away with it, and as long as Niou was Atobe... he could, too. So he taunted, he teased, and he grinned as he caught the tensai and trapped him in strong but lithely muscled arms, kissing hissing lips and taming them.  
   
"I've been looking forward to this," he murmured, leaning in to Fuji's ear as the tensai panted into his neck, coming down from his anger but still worked-up from the deep kiss.  
   
"What exactly is it you think you're looking forward to?"  
   
All of a sudden, Fuji's tone was smooth and dangerous, and Niou nearly shivered but he was Atobe now, and one eyebrow rose in interest, instead. "Why, whatever else might you have in mind, ahn...?"  
   
He stumbled as Fuji shoved him suddenly. The tensai certainly wasn't weak but the force of the push needed to move Atobe sent him back a step or two, as well.  
   
Sharp blue eyes met Niou's, and now, Atobe did shiver. That kind of challenge coming from one who usually presented as prey...  
   
"Strip."  
   
"...Why don't you take care of it for m-"  
   
"Strip."  
   
"I hardly think-"  
   
"Strip. Or the next word you speak with an ounce of clothing on will be the last thing I hear before I walk out the door."  
   
Raising his chin with a mixture of defiance and confidence, and capping the action with a tiny downward bob of compliance, Niou reached silently for the top button of his shirt and began to work it undone. His reflection in the mirror on the back of his door caught his eyes and he began to watch it as he worked each button, letting his fingers trail down creamy skin, under which tough pectoral muscles offset delicate bone structure.  
   
He kept half an eye on Fuji, too, and the tensai was quite riveted to the display. Niou didn't blame him. He was getting pretty hard, himself, seeing Atobe sensually de-robe in his reflection.  
   
"Eyes on me," Fuji ordered breathily.  
   
Reluctantly, Niou complied... but that reluctance only lasted the microseconds it took for his focus to switch from Atobe to Fuij.  
   
There was lust creating shadows in the pools of his clear blue eyes and the tops of his cheek bones glowed pink with heat. He lips were wet from the passage of his tongue and hung open just slightly, revealing a hint of pink, slowly receding.   
   
Atobe might be stimulating, but Fuji was beautiful.  
   
Wistfully, he wondered if the tensai would let him watch in the mirror... He'd like that a lot.  
   
There was as much showmanship to the unveiling of the lower half as the upper, and when he was done, Niou stood confidently in a pool of clothes without a thread to shield him—and who would want to shield such a magnificent figure, anyway?  
   
Damn... He was beginning to get it.  
   
And so was Fuji.  
   
The tensai slowly stepped up and began to circle, his eyes roving leisurely and taking in every crease and plane, every elegant line and sophisticated curve. He stopped, leaning his left shoulder into Niou's left and letting his fingers fall down the perfect skin of Atobe's chest.   
   
"Is this real?" he asked, his voice husky. "Is this really what he... what he looks like?"  
   
"Down to the last, immaculately pedicured toenail," Niou told him, maintaining the facade but letting his voice fall flat in a way Atobe's theatrical tones never would. "So..." He took a nervous breath, wondering if he was pushing too far... "You don't have to look any further. Everything you want... it's right here. I can be it all."  
   
Fuji's inhalation trembled, and when he spoke it was with a thrill of excitement harboring a note of humiliation. "And what if what I want is... revenge?"  
   
"I can be it all," Niou whispered. "Try me."  
   
"Give me your safe word," Fuji responded, without hesitation.  
   
Niou smirked and—himself for just a moment—licked Fuji's cheek. "Puri!"  
   
For just a moment, Fuji mirrored his smirk, exhibiting a glint of amusement. Then, the tensai's smile grew dangerous.  
   
"On your knees..."  
   
*  
   
Fuji's "revenge" was very little about hurting his target and very much about taking power for himself. Yukimura's "revenge" was another story entirely.  
   
Gasping for air, Niou simultaneously strained to breathe and strained for the glimmer of ecstasy that blossomed with each rough thrust and rapidly expanded along with the continual depletion of oxygen. His belly constricted in an effort to control his breath and that triggered reactions in his body that soon had him trembling with suppressed bliss. Yukimura's arm pulling heavily back against his chest was so much stronger than his thin frame implied, and the fingers that gripped his throat dug in with bony strength that hurt like hell at five points in particular where fingertips gouged intricate muscles made for speech and song.  
   
He clawed at the wall, surprised by tears that spilled down into stray clumps of mousy brown hair that stuck to his sweaty face. Then, Yukimura struck home and the world exploded in a shower of sparks and black and white balls of light and darkness that fed one into the other until everything faded to gray.   
   
The next thing he knew, Niou lay curled on the floor, clutching his throat and coughing. It was cold against his skin and felt rough with strands of hair and specs of dirt brought in on the bottoms of shoes. He hated it.  
   
To his relief, Yukimura didn't leave him there. He scooped Niou up and draped his own jersey about trembling shoulders. Pitifully grateful, Niou leaned his head against Yukimura's chest.  
   
"Thank you," his captain told him. "I needed that."  
   
"Don't hurt him, please," Niou wheezed.  
   
Stroking Niou's hair off of his face with a gentle touch that seemed too good to be true, the captain spoke kindly. "I won't need to," he said, "as long as you keep him busy and satisfied enough to stay away from my boyfriend..."  
   
Niou didn't quite have his wits about him yet. If he had thought about it, he would have known the answer. "But... I thought you wanted him..."  
   
"Lucky for us both... that's what I have you for."  
   
*

For the first time in years, Fuji was able to look Tezuka in the eye without desperately wishing for some sign that there was some hint of regret or invitation there. He didn’t need it anymore. That was not to say that he didn’t need Tezuka… He did. Nothing had changed, there. Nothing, except that now he did have Tezuka—in a way.

He had yet to sample and confirm that fact but he was sold, anyway. Niou’s performance as Atobe had been far beyond Fuji’s wildest dreams. The trickster didn’t just wear Atobe’s skin while giving in to Fuji’s every wish… He fought, tooth and nail, just as Atobe would. He was arrogant, proud, perverse, and infuriating, and when Fuji did get his way, it was with the full satisfaction of knowing he had earned it.

Niou was good.

*

“Money, looks, talent… You’ve got it all… You know what else I bet you’re good at? Sucking cock.” Winding his fingers into Atobe’s hair, Fuji had completely forgotten for a little while who he was really talking dirty to. “Go on. Put your mouth around me like I know you did to Tezuka.”

“Gladly. Just don’t blame me when your knees buckle and you land on your cute little ass,” Atobe retorted, taking Fuji by surprise.

He was every bit as good as he promised, too. It took all of Fuji’s willpower to stay on his feet and there was nothing he could do for the tremble in his thighs.

When he took Atobe, it was with the full knowledge that he was taking something that had belonged to Tezuka—something that still did, just as he did. Only when he recognized the expression of desperate desire reflected back at them in the mirror did he remember it was Nious he was fucking—Niou who was so turned on by the sight of Fuji and Atobe that he was about to cum hands free.

Pulling his partner up by the hair, Fuji positioned them so that they both knelt more-or-less upright and he could see comfortably over Atobe’s shoulder despite the height difference in their torsos. He reached around and began to stroke in counter-rhythm to shallow thrusts.

“You can cum now,” he whispered—and Atobe’s face contorted in waves of tension and relief as his body seized up and shuddered while Fuji slammed hard against him at a dizzying pace until his own orgasm stole his focus.

Breathing hard and clammy with sweat, he buried his forehead in a back that was still unfamiliar to him. He took in a new scent and found it pleasing.

“Niou?” he asked, clearing a throat gruff with whatever shout had just escaped him.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” asked the trickster, causing Fuji to smile fondly. Between sharp shoulder blades he had the strange urge to lick.

*

“Tezuka, I’m looking forward to the camp. Isn’t it nice that we’ll both be able to spend time with our lovers there?”

At first, Fuji thought he’d missed his mark as Tezuka just made a non-commital sound of agreement and continued to fold his jersey. Then, the captain slowed to a stop and crooked his head to look at Fuji, half bent-over his sports bag. “I wasn’t aware you were with anyone,” he said thickly, as if speaking through cotton wool.

“Oh, it’s a little bit new… a little bit old… The camp should give us a chance to really bond, you know? I do hope you two get along.”

“If I may ask…”

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. See you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to write this pairing for some time. I just didn't quite expect it to happen in this fic until recently! lol


End file.
